SUNRISE  FROM  THE  HILL-TOP 
BEATRICE  BARMBY 


SUNRISE  FROM  THE 
HILL-TOP 

BY 

BEATRICE  BARMBY 

Author    of    "  Betty    Marchand,"    etc. 


NEW  NtSJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  ipxp 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


"  The  Love  which  will  not  make  sacrifices  to  its  object 
is  no  proper  Love.  Grounded  in  admiration  and  the 
feeling  of  enjoyment,  it  is  a  fit  Love  for  a  picture,  or  a 
statue,  or  a  poem;  but  for  a  living  soul  it  is  not  fit. 
Alas!  Without  deep  sacrifices  on  both  sides,  the  possi- 
bility of  union  is  an  empty  dream." 

CARLYLE 


2134274 


CONTENTS 

Book  I  ,ACB 

GIRLHOOD n 

Book  II 
THE  COMING  OF  THE  AMERICAN  37 

Book  III 
MARRIAGE 83 

Book  IV 
THE  NEW  COUNTRY   .......     149 

Book  V 
DEFIANCE 215 

Book  VI 
SUNRISE         .       . 257 


BOOK  ONE:     GIRLHOOD 


BOOK  ONE:   GIRLHOOD 
Chapter  One 


"TVTARGARET!"~and  after  a  moment's 

IV  J.  "  Margaret,  I  want  you ! " 
My  mother's  voice  floated  softly  to  me  from  the  dis- 
tance piercing  the  haze  of  dreams  and  sunlight  and 
apple  blossoms  in  which  I  had  been  basking — dreams, 
for  was  it  not  my  nineteenth  birthday  and  the  future 
touched  by  a  rosy  glamour  ?  As  for  the  blossoms  and 
the  sunlight  I  was  sitting  perched  in  my  favorite  apple 
tree,  just  where  a  young  bough  left  the  parent  trunk, 
and  the  soft  sunshine  of  a  late  spring  afternoon  beau- 
tified all  that  it  touched. 

I  was  intensely  happy  with  my  dreams  and  a  box  of 
chocolates  and  with  a  little  thrill  of  excitement  at  dis- 
obeying my  august  mother  I  nestled  still  further  into 
the  mass  of  green  and  pink,  and  again  gave  myself  to 
my  thoughts.  School  was  finished,  thank  goodness, 
and  I  could  look  forward  to  spending  years  and  years 
in  this  dear  place.  How  passionately  I  had  resented 
being  separated  from  it  even  for  the  two  years  I  had 
just  spent  at  "  the  most  exclusive  boarding-school  in 
Bournemouth,"  as  the  prospectus  had  it — they  might 
have  added  "  the  most  expensive !  " 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Through  the  hedge  which  separated  the  orchard 
from  the  farm-yard,  I  could  see  that  everything  had 
succumbed  to  the  same  desire  for  peaceful  basking  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine.  During  the  morning,  Mother 
Carey  had  been  busy  picking  and  clucking  and  chasing 
her  restless  brood  of  fluffy  yellow  chickens,  but  now 
the  spell  which  had  set  me  dreaming  had  stilled  her 
energies  and  those  of  her  children.  Just  by  the  side 
of  the  sweet-smelling  haystack  she  sat,  head  sunk  on 
breast,  eyes  shut,  sheltering  her  family.  Only  an  oc- 
casional gleam  of  her  bright  eyes  and  a  sudden  raising 
of  her  head  showing  that  in  spite  of  her  laziness  she 
was  yet  alive  to  the  duties  of  motherhood.  Near  her, 
Bruno,  my  bulldog,  lay  with  his  head  on  his  paws, 
trembling  now  and  then  as  he  dreamed  of  rats  and 
well-fought  fights  and  other  such  delectable  things.  In 
a  nearby  field,  a  new  colt  which  through  the  morning 
had  been  exercising  his  ridiculous  long  legs,  and  teas- 
ing his  mother  with  his  youthful  spirits,  now  stood 
beside  her,  head  nuzzling  into  her  brown  body,  as 
she  too  rested  beneath  the  shade  of  a  great  elm.  Even 
old  John,  the  gardener,  who  was  supposed  to  be  dig- 
ging, was  leaning  up  against  a  tree,  hat  tilted  over 
eyes,  hands  folded  on  his  spade.  Over  everything 
the  same  peace  and  sense  of  well-being  rested ;  the  air 
was  full  of  the  quiet,  somnolent  beauty  of  the  sunny 
afternoon. 

As  I  looked  through  the  trees  at  the  long  rambling 
lines  of  the  old  grey  stone  house,  the  beauty  of  the 
setting  brought  a  lump  to  my  throat.  I  often  thought 


Girlhood 

that  Mother  Nature  had  taken  a  personal  interest  in 
the  resting-place  for  our  home,  it  was  so  ideal.  Stand- 
ing on  gently  rising  ground,  the  thick  trees  came  down 
to  meet  it  on  three  sides,  as  though  during  its  four 
hundred  years'  existence  it  were  something  they  had 
learned  to  love  and  wished  to  touch.  From  my  bed- 
room window,  I  could  always  hear  their  voices — some- 
times a  soft  gentle  rustling,  sometimes  in  stormy 
weather  a  loud  thrashing  to  and  fro,  a  sound  which 
my  mother  said  she  hated,  but  which  I  loved  and 
listened  to  for  hours.  From  the  front  of  the  house 
the  view  was  free,  and  down  a  gentle  slope,  green 
lawns  and  rolling  parkland  stretched  into  the  distance, 
separated  from  the  village  by  a  low  grey  stone  wall. 
The  yellow  strip  of  the  drive,  bordered  by  elms,  broke 
the  surrounding  greenness.  At  the  back  of  the  house 
to  the  left  lay  the  farm  buildings;  to  the  right  the 
orchard,  and  beyond  that  the  beautiful  thick  woods. 
For  a  little  way  the  path  through  them  was  level, 
then  it  rose  steeply,  climbing  the  hill-side,  still  thickly 
wooded. 

And  after  the  climb,  what  a  view  from  the  hill -top! 
The  dark  brown  furrows  of  the  ploughed  fields,  or 
the  waving  yellow  of  the  corn  splashed  with  the  vivid 
scarlet  poppies  and  criss-crossed  by  low,  prim  hedges, 
stretching  away  across  the  valley,  and  climbing  the 
next  gentle  slope.  There  was  nothing  grand  or  rugged 
about  it;  all  was  fair,  peaceful,  smiling — soil  which 
had  been  tilled,  and  crops  which  had  been  gathered 
generation  after  generation.  Even  under  a  heavy, 

[13] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


winter  sky,  the  place  still  had  something  of  peace,  of 
ancient  security  about  it. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  woods,  another  path  led  to 
the  right,  dipping  down  to  the  lake,  or  mere,  which 
gave  the  house  its  name  of  Meadowmere.  No  one 
knew  the  depth  of  the  still  black  waters.  It  was  a  place 
of  mystery,  to  which  the  sunlight  scarcely  penetrated 
through  the  thick  trees  and  I  doubt  if  any  one  of  the 
villagers  would  have  been  bold  enough  to  go  near  it 
at  night,  for  fearsome  stories  had  been  handed  down 
from  father  to  son — generations  of  mothers  had  used 
it  as  a  bogy  to  still  the  children  on  their  knees,  and 
superstition  and  sometimes  tragic  fact  had  made  it 
a  spot  to  be  avoided.  Yet  it  was  the  place  to  which 
I  went  when  I  was  sad  or  lonely,  choosing  the 
path  to  the  hill-top  only  in  a  mood  of  buoyant  happi- 
ness. 

These  occasional  fits  of  loneliness  were  due  to  my 
family's  lack  of  response  to  the  affection  I  felt  for 
them.  Between  my  mother  and  me  was  a  barrier  due 
perhaps  to  a  temperamental  difference,  she  being  bril- 
liant and  handsome  with  a  restless  energy  and  unusual 
powers  of  organisation,  while  I  was  shy  and  dreamy. 
My  father  was  a  reserved,  scholarly  man,  who  was 
chiefly  interested  in  his  books,  while  Tom,  my  only 
brother,  was  not  a  being  who  appreciated  a  loving 
sympathy,  for  though  he  was  always  getting  into 
scrapes,  his  handsome  face  and  laughing  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  be  quite  capable  of  getting  him  out  of 
them.  Everyone  loved  and  admired  him;  farmhands, 


Girlhood 

labourers,  servants,  villagers  spoiled  and  indulged  him 
to  the  top  of  his  bent. 

And  so  it  happened  that  as  no  one  around  me  seemed 
to  want  the  almost  passionate  devotion  of  which  I 
was  capable  and  which  was  hidden  by  a  shy  reserve, 
I  poured  it  out  over  my  home,  over  the  very  stones 
of  it,  over  the  broad  lawns  and  great  oak-trees,  the 
still  deep  lake  bordered  by  the  brownheaded  rushes, 
the  village  which  was  called  Sunnydale,  with  its  old- 
fashioned  cottages  and  winding  lanes,  the  people  in  it. 
I  knew  their  histories,  their  troubles,  their  joys,  and 
I  gave  to  all  of  them  all  I  had  to  give,  love,  sympathy 
and  pity.  I  adored  the  fat  cuddly  babies,  the  chickens, 
puppies,  kittens,  calves — everything  which  was  young 
and  helpless  and  which  wanted  love.  Not  a  new  living 
thing  was  born  but  that  '  Miss  Margaret  must  see  it ! ' 

It  was  this  tremendous  love  for  my  home  which  had 
nearly  brought  about  a  tragedy.  '  T'owld  Squi-er ' 
had  had  no  children.  Father  had  not  come  into  the 
estate  until  Tom  was  two  years  old  and  it  was  perhaps 
because  my  brother  had  been  born  in  the  South  of 
France  while  I  had  opened  my  eyes  in  Meadowmere 
that  our  feelings  about  it  were  so  different;  for  while 
I  would  have  been  crazy  to  be  the  future  owner  of 
my  darling  home,  the  prospect  did  not  bring  him  any 
joy  at  all. 

That  awful  day  when  I  thought  that  I  had  killed  my 
brother!  .  .  .  There  had  been  thunder  in  the 
air,  the  warm  oppressive  heat  making  everyone  irrita- 
ble and  as  it  was  at  the  end  of  the  summer  holidays, 

[153 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


my  temper  had  not  been  improved  by  the  long  period 
of  Tom's  attentions  in  the  shape  of  apple-pie  beds, 
hair  tied  to  chairs,  or  the  '  murder '  of  a  much-loved 
doll.  But  when  after  dinner  in  the  schoolroom  we 
passed  down  the  broad  path  leading  from  the  house  to 
the  paddock  where  our  ponies  were  feeding,  love  for 
my  home  softened  me  towards  him  who  would  be 
owner  of  it  all,  and  with  emotion  I  exclaimed  unreserv- 
edly and  earnestly, 

"  Tom,  don't  you  love  it! " 

"  Love  it,  love  what?  " 

At  the  suspicion  of  mockery  in  his  tone,  my  feel- 
ings choked  in  my  throat  and  with  a  lame  gesture  I 
said  flatly,  "  Oh,  all  of  this,  our  home." 

"  Love  it,  crikey,  no !  I  think  it  is  a  dull  old  hole. 
When  I'm  grown  up,  bachelor  quarters  in  London  for 
me,  my  girl,  no  poking  around  Meadowmere." 

"  Tom,  do  you  mean  you  won't  live  here?  "  I  asked, 
aghast. 

"  I  do  mean  just  that.  And,"  he  went  on  with  a 
grin,  "  I'll  probably  let  it  to  a  farmer  who  v/ill  plant 
potatoes  on  the  lawns,  and  use  the  house  as  a  show- 
place  for  the  country  bumpkins  at  tuppence  a  time. 
How  will  that  suit  you?  "  He  caught  my  hands  and 
jeered  into  my  face. 

This  outrage  to  my  most  solemn  feelings  added  fuel 
to  my  previous  irritation,  momentary  gentleness 
making  it  seem  a  yet  more  heinous  crime.  A  flaming 
rage  shook  me. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  I  said  furiously,  trying  to  get  away. 

[16] 


Girlhood 

But  he  only  grinned  the  more,  as  he  shifted  his  grasp 
and  said, 

"  See,  I  can  hold  you  with  one  hand !  " 

I  was  trembling,  and  the  colour  which  had  flooded 
my  face  ebbed  away,  leaving  me  pale  with  a  fury 
which  choked  me.  I  could  not  speak.  Seeing  that 
there  was  no  further  amusement  to  be  got  out  of  me, 
and  with  a  last  shake  of  my  imprisoned  hands,  "  Little 
spitfire,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  said,  and  walked  off,  whis- 
tling cheerily. 

The  desire  to  hurt,  to  punish  my  tormentor  over- 
came my  usual  timidity.  With  the  primitive  instinct 
for  revenge,  I  picked  up  a  sharp  stone  and  with  all 
my  might  flung  it  at  his  retreating  figure.  I  heard 
a  crash,  saw  him  stop,  waver  a  second,  and  then 
fall. 

I  waited  breathlessly,  my  anger  ebbing  in  terror. 
What  had  I  done?  I  waited  a  moment  longer.  He 
did  not  move,  and  slowly  I  dragged  my  feet  towards 
him.  From  the  side  of  his  head  blood  was  flowing  in 
a  sickly  stream.  My  terrible  screams  brought  people 
running — shadows  which  danced  before  my  eyes,  till 
one  took  shape  and  catching  me  by  the  shoulder,  she 
shook  me  back  and  forth.  It  was  my  mother. 

"If  you've  killed  him,  you'll  suffer  for  this,"  she 
said.  Her  face  frightened  me  even  more  than  her 
words,  but  the  thought  that  she  would  have  made  ex- 
cuses if  it  had  been  Tom  who  had  done  this  awful  thing 
to  me,  hardened  my  heart,  and  I  stood  sullenly,  with- 
out expressing  my  deep  remorse. 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Then  father  came,  and  taking  her  arm,  said  quietly, 

"  Please  come  into  the  house.  Don't  make  a  scene 
before  the  servants."  So  I  was  left  alone  and  at  a 
distance  crept  after  that  grim  procession.  For  hours, 
it  seemed  to  me,  I  sat  crouched  on  the  wide  window 
ledge  in  the  library,  half  hidden  by  the  curtains,  as 
the  unusual  sounds  of  haste  and  ringing  of  bells 
went  on  around  me.  Presently  footsteps  came  into  the 
room  and  a  voice  called  softly, 

"  Margaret,  where  are  you  ?  " 

It  was  my  father.  His  face  was  white  and  grieved, 
and  with  the  reaction  from  fury  and  fear,  I  flung  my- 
self into  his  arms  and  with  passionate  sobs,  I  said, 

"  Father,  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  Tom,  I  only  wanted 
to  punish  him.  Will  he  get  better  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  The  doctor  says  he 
is  not  seriously  hurt,  he  was  only  stunned.  But  what 
made  you  do  such  a  terrible  thing?  " 

I  had  always  borne  Tom's  teasing  without  com- 
plaining to  anyone,  but  now  some  sympathy  in  Father's 
voice  made  me  sob  out  the  story  of  the  little  persecu- 
tions and  of  the  final  thing  which  had  made  me  blind 
with  rage.  "  Oh,  why  should  Tom  have  Meadowmere, 
when  he  does  not  care,  and  I  love  it  so  ?  "  I  ended. 

His  face  went  still  whiter,  and  he  half  turned  his 
head.  "  So  he  doesn't  even  care!  Poor  little  girl!  " 
and  then  I  thought  he  murmured,  "  What  have  I 
done  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  "  Only  how  could  that  be, 
for  it  was  I  who  had  done  things  ? 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Father?  "  I  asked  shyly. 

[18] 


Girlhood 

He  looked  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  long  way  off. 
Then  he  muttered  again — "  Poor  little  Margaret ! 
What  bonds  we  forge  in  youth  and  ignorance."  And 
his  face  crinkled  up  as  though  something  were  hurting 
him. 

"  Do  you  think  mother  will  forgive  me  ?  "  I  asked 
later,  touching  his  arm,  for  he  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten me. 

"  I  hope  so,  I  will  help  her  to  do  so."  Even  as  his 
words  gave  me  comfort,  I  wondered  why  she  would 
need  help  if  father  forgave  me,  when  Tom  was  his 
only  son  and  heir?  In  my  heart  I  could  not  help  feel- 
ing that  he  blamed  Tom  more  than  he  blamed  me,  and 
in  this  moment  of  unusual  sympathy,  I  put  the  question 
which  so  often  puzzled  me, 

"  Why  doesn't  mother  love  me  like  she  loves  Tom  ?  " 

His  arm  tightened  round  me.  "Of  course  she 
does." 

"  No,  I  know  she  does  not/'  I  said,  with  settled  con- 
viction. "  Is  it  because  I  am  not  pretty  ?  "  My  dark 
eyes  and  heavy  dark  hair  had  never  pleased  me  and 
my  cheeks  were  unusually  colourless,  in  spite  of  the 
country  air. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  a  case  of  *  The  Ugly  Duck- 
ling ',"  he  said  with  a  sad  smile. 

When  I  went  into  Tom's  room  next  day,  the  sight  of 
his  white  face  and  bandaged  head  brought  the  tears 
to  my  eyes.  In  spite  of  what  I  suffered  from  his  teas- 
ing attentions,  I  loved  him  intensely,  admiring  and 
envying  his  handsome  face  and  easy  manners  which 

[19] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


were  so  different  from  my  own  reserve  and  awkward- 
ness. 

Very  humbly  I  said,  "  I'm  awfully  sorry — will  you 
forgive  me?  " 

"  That's  all  right,  old  girl,  it  was  my  fault,  I  'spects," 
and  his  generosity  made  me  feel  a  greater  sinner  than 
ever.  That  was  always  the  way  with  Tom!  Sunny 
and  good-tempered,  he  walked  away  from  the  conse- 
quences of  his  mischief  with  a  smile,  leaving  his  vic- 
tims with  the  feeling  that  they  were  actually  respon- 
sible for  the  catastrophe.  .  .  . 

How  vivid  was  my  memory  of  those  awful  hours 
when  I  did  not  know  whether  he  would  live !  Now  he 
was  at  Oxford,  spending  lots  of  money  and  I  doubt 
not  making  many  friends.  I  knew  that  he  had  had  a 
row  with  Father  last  vacation  over  some  debts  but  as 
usual  Mother  had  helped  him  out. 

This  was  always  the  way.  Tom  was  still  her  idol, 
nothing  he  did  being  wrong  in  her  eyes,  while  I  was 
unloved,  unwanted.  Curiously  enough  with  my  father 
the  preference  seemed  to  be  reversed;  I  knew  that  he 
loved  me  while  he  judged  Tom  so  sharply,  never 
seeming  to  thaw  under  the  attractiveness  of  his  good- 
natured  personality.  This  divided  allegiance  on  the 
part  of  my  parents  puzzled  me.  There  was  something 
uncanny,  mysterious  about  it.  Sometimes  I  felt  that 
it  was  rooted  in  something  unknown,  entirely  uncon- 
nected with  the  preferences  which  our  different  tem- 
peraments might  have  caused. 

Suddenly  my  reverie  was  broken  by  the  sharp  voice 

[20] 


Girlhood 

of  Harris,  Mother's  maid.  I  heard  her  call,  "  Miss 
Margaret,  where  are  you  ?  "  Then  in  a  lower  voice, 
"Drat  that  child!" 

With  a  sigh  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  have 
to  obey  her  call,  and  swinging  out  of  the  tree,  I  walked 
towards  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  Harris?" 

"  The  mistress  says  you  are  please  to  come  in  at 
once,"  she  answered. 

Her  prim  looks  amused  me  after  her  exclamation. 
"  What  can  she  want  with  me  indoors  this  lovely 
day?" 

The  woman  gave  me  a  curious  glance,  then  her  face 
resumed  its  usual  wooden  expression.  "  Sir  Mark 
Haselton  is  there." 

"Oh  bother!"  I  said  crossly.  It  was  not  that  I 
did  not  like  Sir  Mark,  I  did,  very  much,  for  he  was 
always  so  kind  to  me.  He  was  our  nearest  neighbor, 
and  the  largest  landowner  for  miles,  and  as  he  was 
unmarried  his  mother  looked  after  his  household  at 
the  Hall.  He  was,  moreover,  father's  most  intimate 
friend  and  ever  since  I  could  remember  he  had  been 
a  familiar  figure  in  my  life,  giving  me  chocolates  and 
books,  and  writing  me  nice  letters  when  I  was  at 
school. 

But  to  go  into  the  house  this  lovely  afternoon! 
Why  couldn't  he  come  out?  Anyway,  why  was  / 
wanted  to  entertain  him?  I  was  not  usually  consid- 
ered so  important! 

As  I  walked  to  the  house  I  pondered  over  this  fur- 

[21] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


ther  mark  of  the  new  consideration  which  I  had  just 
lately  noticed  in  my  mother's  attitude.  Perhaps  Sir 
Mark  had  told  her  that  he  thought  I  had  improved.  I 
smiled  again  with  pleasure  as  I  remembered  my  first 
meeting  with  him  after  my  two  years'  absence  at 
Bournemouth. 

It  was  at  a  garden  party  and  Mother  had  taken 
an  unusual  interest  in  my  dress  and  had  sent  Harris  to 
help  me.  Even  while  I  was  gratefully  accepting  her 
aid,  I  was  delighting  over  this  new  evidence  that  per- 
haps Mother  was  beginning  to  love  me  a  little.  Then 
the  pleasure  in  my  sudden  blooming  had  driven 
thoughts  away.  I  had  seen  in  the  mirror  a  small,  slim 
girl  in  a  simple  white  dress,  the  brim  of  her  large  hat 
lined  with  a  soft  pink,  which  shaded  with  the  paler 
pink  of  her  cheeks,  the  light  catching  the  waves  of 
her  dark  hair  and  relieving  its  heavy  masses,  and  her 
eyes,  dark,  dreamy,  full  of  the  thoughts  of  youth,  just 
then  smiling  at  the  figure  they  saw,  but  often  hiding 
a  wistful  look  under  their  dark-lashed  lids. — "  Really 
I  am  quite  pleased  with  you! "  I  had  said,  nodding  at 
my  reflection  and  delighted  to  see  something  which 
did  not  offend  my  eye  for  beauty. 

Sir  Mark  was  talking  to  the  vicar's  wife  when  we 
went  in,  and  as  he  turned  away,  I  went  eagerly  to  greet 
him,  for  he  was  the  one  grown-up  with  whom  I  was 
never  shy. 

But  instead  of  responding-  to  my  gay  "  Good  after- 
noon," and  outstretched  hand,  he  just  stared.  Then 
recovering  his  usual  easy  manner,  he  said, 

[22] 


Girlhood 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Margaret,  but  you  just  took 
my  breath  away,  you  have  changed  so  much." 

"  For  the  better,  I  hope !  "  I  said  smiling. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  he  answered  with  emphasis. 

"You  think  it  couldn't  have  been  for  the  worse! " 

"  Now  you  are  trying  to  catch  me  in  a  trap,"  and 
he  joined  in  my  laughter.  My  satisfaction  grew  rap- 
idly; it  was  splendid  to  feel  this  new  ease  and  to  know 
that  Mother  need  no  longer  call  me  sulky  because  an 
agonised  shyness  kept  me  quietly  in  a  corner.  Two 
years  away  from  Meadowmere  had  not  been  wasted. 
After  that,  I  had  seen  Sir  Mark  very  often — indeed  it 
seemed  as  though  hardly  a  day  passed  but  that  we 
met  somewhere. 

Now  I  was  being  brought  in  to  entertain  him! 
I  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  porch,  watching  the 
scene,  my  heart  stirred  again  by  the  sense  of  youth 
and  springtime,  by  the  many  evidences  of  love  and 
motherhood  around  me.  A  quick  feeling  of  the  de- 
sirability of  this  universal  mating  sent  the  colour  to  my 
cheeks,  and  with  breathing  quickened  by  these  roman- 
tic, youthful  dreams  I  passed  into  the  cool  hall. 

Was  it  the  sudden  change  from  light  to  shade,  from 
warmth  to  coolness,  which  sent  a  shiver  through  me? 
I  could  hear  the  sound  of  voices,  but  as  my  footsteps 
echoed  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  hall  they  stopped.  I 
was  conscious  of  an  unusual  constraint  on  my  mother's 
part  as  I  went  into  the  drawing-room  and  greeted  Sir 
Mark.  He  was  even  more  gentle,  more  courteous  than 
usual,  though  I  thought  that  he  was  not  at  ease. 

[23] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Margaret,"  said  my  mother,  in  her  most  honeyed 
tone,  "  Sir  Mark  has  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I 
want  you  to  know  that  it  has  my  entire  approval," 
and  without  another  word  she  went  out.  I  was 
astounded  and  stood  there  staring,  struck  dumb  by 
this  sudden  thrusting  to  the  centre  of  the  stage. 

I  noticed  that  Sir  Mark  was  very  pale,  and  after  a 
moment's  awkward  silence,  he  said  in  a  halting  voice, 

"  Margaret,  I  would  rather  have  spoken  to  you  first, 
but  you  are  so  young  that  I  felt  I  ought  to  ask  your 
mother  if  I  had  her  approval." 

"  Approval !  "  I  stammered. 

"  Yes,  I — will  you  marry  me — Margaret  ?  " 

My  head  whirled.  Marry  him !  When  I  had  always 
classed  him  with  my  father !  I  looked  at  him  steadily, 
feeling  that  there  must  be  something  new  about  him, 
that  my  previous  conception  had  been  wrong.  But  no, 
he  looked  just  the  same  kind,  gentle  friend  that  I  had 
always  known,  with  dark  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair  and 
a  figure  slender  and  straight  in  spite  of  his  age — why, 
he  must  be  at  least  forty!  And  yet  he  had  asked  me 
to  marry  him,  and  I  was  only  nineteen. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said  stupidly. 

He  came  nearer.  "  I  love  you,"  he  said  in  a  low 
breathless  voice,  "  don't  think  that  I  wanted  this  form- 
ality, but  you  are  so  young  that  my  conscience  bade 
me  ask  your  mother  first;  my  heart  only  wanted  to 
ask  you  if  you  loved  me,  I  only  wanted  to  take  you  in 
my  arms  and  hear  you  say  '  yes',  like  this." 

His  eyes  were  strangely  brilliant  in  his  white  face, 
[24] 


Girlhood 

and  I  could  feel  him  tremble.  How  extraordinary 
that  he  should  be  affected  like  this  over  me!  After 
the  first  touch  of  vanity,  I  felt  vaguely  miserable — 
there  was  something  wrong  with  this  wooing.  I  was 
perfectly  calm  and  cool.  Where  was  the  thrill  which  I 
had  dimly  pictured  when  my  first  lover  should  come  to 
me  and  say  '  I  love  you ! '  I  remembered  one  of  the 
girls  at  school  who  had  become  engaged  during  her 
last  term — "  It's  breathlessly  exciting !  "  she  had  said, 
"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  on  a  precipice  and  might  step  off 
the  edge  any  minute."  Well,  I  had  no  feeling  of 
being  on  a  precipice;  rather  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I 
were  standing  on  an  endless  plain,  perfectly  safe  and 
level.  It  was  this  feeling  of  safety  which  frightened 
me.  I  wanted  something  more  exciting,  some  little 
thrill. 

"  Margaret,  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

As  he  bent  his  head,  I  saw  that  the  hair  which  I 
used  to  ruffle  When  I  was  a  child  was  growing  thin.  I 
shivered.  It  was  rather  awful  to  find  my  old  friend 
suddenly  changed  into  this  strange  new  being. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said  again.  I  was  angry  with 
myself  for  this  stupid  repetition,  but  it  seemed  so 
cruel  to  say,  "  No  I  don't."  It  would  hurt  his  feel- 
ings and  my  own  being  so  sensitive  I  hated  to  cause 
him  that  pain  I  knew  so  well. 

"  I  will  be  very  good  to  you  if  you  will  marry  me. 
I  will  try  and  make  you  happy." 

His  voice  was  almost  pleading.  Instinctively  I  felt 
that  he  ought  to  have  demanded,  not  pleaded — that 

[25] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


it  was  a  man's  inalienable  right  to  demand,  that  he 
ought  to  have  swept  me  away  with  his  strength.  Per- 
haps it  was  that  he  was  too  old.  The  lover  of  which 
I  had  dreamed  was  about  my  own  age,  vital,  glowing 
with  youth.  Outside  was  the  springtime,  when  the 
world  and  all  in  it  was  young,  when  youth  mated  with 
youth,  and  young  new  things  were  born;  here  was — 

"  I  must  think  about  it,"  I  said,  pushing  his  arms 
away.  Suddenly  I  felt  afraid,  stifled. 

"  Very  well,  but  don't  forget  how  much  I  love  you. 
When  will  you  tell  me — to-morrow  ? "  he  asked 
eagerly. 

I  wanted  to  put  off  the  burden  of  such  a  decision 
until  some  far-off  future  time,  but  I  could  not  exist 
with  it  hanging  over  my  head,  so  I  assented  and  said 
good-bye. 

As  I  went  into  Mother's  sitting-room,  she  looked 
at  me  eagerly  and  when  I  did  not  speak,  asked  with 
a  repressed  eagerness, 

"  Have  you  no  news  for  me  ?  " 

"No — I — "  I  flung  out  my  hands;  how  could  I 
tell  her  what  I  felt.  "  I  have  to  think  it  over,  I  have 
promised  to  decide  by  to-morrow." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  match  for  you,"  she  said  qui- 
etly, "  and  you  know  that  you  would  then  always  be 
near  Meadowmere." 

For  that  moment  I  hated  her.  With  a  bitter  smile, 
I  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  You  needn't  have  used 
that  bait  to  show  me  how  eager  you  are  to  get  rid  of 
me." 

[26] 


Girlhood 

"  Please  don't  talk  such  nonsense,"  she  said  in  that 
cold  even  voice  I  dreaded. 

I  left  her,  covering  the  hurt  with  a  proud  look.  If 
only  she  had  taken  me  in  her  arms,  and  loved  me  as 
I  felt  other  mothers  would  have  done  at  such  a  time! 
How  badly  I  needed  love  and  help  and  advice ! 

During  the  night  I  tried  to  decide.  Common  sense, 
liking,  friendship,  the  thought  of  all  the  good  I  could 
do  for  the  villagers,  the  thought  of  being  so  near  my 
home,  were  all  on  the  side  of  saying  '  yes ',  and  per- 
haps in  the  back  of  my  mind  was  the  knowledge  of 
what  I  should  have  to  suffer  from  mother's  disap- 
proval, if  I  did  say  '  no.'  For  my  own  self-respect,  I 
tried  not  to  think  of  this,  but  it  was  there,  and  though 
I  was  capable  of  a  sudden  defiance  under  the  stress  of 
emotion,  I  had  to  own,  shamefacedly,  that  the  conse- 
quences of  going  against  her  wishes  in  this  matter 
would  be  almost  too  severe  a  test  of  my  courage, 
Against  all  these  weighty  arguments  there  was  only 
the  instinct  that  love  meant  more  than  all  of  them.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  really  did  decide,  so  many  times 
did  I  fluctuate  between  *  no '  and  '  yes  ',  but  when  I 
looked  into  my  mirror  the  next  night,  I  saw  the  affi- 
anced bride  of  Sir  Mark  Haselton. 

A  great  gleaming  diamond  was  on  my  finger;  it 
had  been  his  mother's  engagement  ring,  it  was  the  tra- 
ditional betrothal  ring  for  the  bride  of  the  eldest  son. 
If  only  it  had  not  been  so  big  and  solid,  if  it  had  been 
a  tiny  pearl,  soft  and  white  and  glowing,  like  my 
dreams  of  love!  I  have  always  hated  diamonds. 

07] 


Chapter  Two 

WHEN  I  awoke  the  next  day  I  felt  vaguely  rest- 
less. I  wandered  round  the  old  house,  and 
finally  stood  before  the  portrait  of  my  great-grand- 
mother, which  hung  in  the  hall  just  opposite  the  big 
open  fireplace.  Did  she  have  the  same  feeling  of  un- 
rest the  day  after  she  had  promised  to  marry  my 
great-grandfather?  The  picture  had  been  painted 
when  she  was  about  fifteen,  a  little  girl  with  brown, 
wistful  eyes  and  heavy  hair  just  like  mine.  This 
*  darkness '  was  a  family  trait,  and  Tom's  brilliant 
fairness  stood  out  as  a  notable  exception  in  genera- 
tions of  dark  men.  I  wandered  to  another  picture  of 
this  ancestor,  hung  against  the  oak  panelling  in  the 
long  dining-room.  There  she  held  in  her  arms  her 
first  son,  and  the  wistful-eyed  little  girl  had  changed 
into  a  handsome  contented-looking  woman.  Would  I 
so  change  ? 

I  heard  my  mother's  voice  and  the  need  for  trying 
to  realise  what  had  happened  away  from  her  influence, 
drove  me  out,  through  the  orchard  and  into  the 
woods.  My  thoughts  were  whirling.  Suddenly  I 
stopped  with  the  realisation  that  unconsciously  my 
feet  had  taken  the  path  to  the  Mere!  What  a  thing 
to  do  on  this  first  morning  of  my  engagement,  and 
[28] 


Girlhood 

with  a  sense  of  guilt,  I  turned  quickly,  and  ran  up  the 
hill  path,  saying  to  myself,  "Of  course,  of  course,  I 
am  happy !  " 

As  I  gazed  at  the  well-loved  scene,  doubts  and  rest- 
lessness disappeared,  and  the  memory  of  a  day  when  I 
had  seen  the  sun  rise  over  the  distant  hills  came  to  me, 
bringing  a  sense  of  peace.  I  had  been  reading  a  book 
of  travel  in  which  the  wonder  of  the  sun  rising  over 
the  mountains  in  far-off  America  was  described  and 
it  had  fired  my  imagination.  Next  morning  I  had 
stolen  out  of  the  house  at  four  o'clock  and  with  a  beat- 
ing heart  and  a  sense  of  tremendous  adventure,  raced 
up  the  hill-side.  It  was  quite  dark  and  I  could  see 
nothing  of  the  sun,  not  even  of  the  view.  I  was  too 
early,  so  I  sat  down  on  a  rock  to  wait.  Presently  I 
began  to  shiver  in  the  keen  morning  air,  my  zest 
slowly  vanishing,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  going 
home  when  a  sense  of  something  about  to  happen  held 
me  spellbound. 

And  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  the  day  began 
to  dawn  before  my  awe-struck  eyes.  Even  more  than 
the  soft,  mournful  beauty  of  the  scene,  a  feeling  of 
hope  dominated  me;  another  day  was  coming,  and  as 
I  watched  the  surrounding  darkness  dissolving  in  the 
widening  light,  something  within  me  seemed  to  be 
atune  with  it,  opening  and  expanding  into  exaltation. 
"  After  the  darkness,  the  dawn !  " — very  dimly,  youth- 
fully, I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  meaning  of  it,  of  the 
ultimate  triumph  of  light  over  the  dark  things  of  the 
earth.  .  .  . 

[29] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  I  know  I  shall  be  happy,"  I  whispered,  as  I  came 
down  the  hill,  "  I  shall  always  be  near  my  darling 
home.  I  must  go  and  tell  Martha." 

Martha  had  been  Tom's  nurse  and  then  mine,  and 
though  when  I  was  a  baby  she  had  left  to  marry  John, 
the  gardener,  they  still  lived  on  the  estate  in  a  little 
cottage  near  the  western  gate.  Almost  as  soon  as  I 
could  talk  I  would  demand  to  be  taken  to  see  Martha, 
and  later,  never  a  day  passed  but  a  childish  figure 
would  fly  down  the  drive,  softly  open  the  door,  walk 
in  on  tip-toe  and  cry  "  Boo ! "  And  never  did  this 
large-hearted  woman  fail  to  pretend  the  right  amount 
of  fear,  or  gather  me  up  in  her  arms  and  cry,  "  Why 
bless  me,  it's  Miss  Margaret !  " 

As  I  went  up  the  little  walk,  with  its  prim  border  of 
blue  lobelia,  Nancy,  their  only  child  who  was  just 
eighteen  months  younger  than  I,  came  out  of  the  door 
and  I  stopped  a  moment  to  admire  the  picture  she 
made  among  the  roses  and  clematis  which  clung  to 
the  front  of  the  little  cottage,  with  its  latticed  win- 
dows. Her  plain  black  dress  heightened  the  beauty 
of  her  colouring — soft  pink  cheeks,  hair  in  which  the 
sunshine  seemed  to  hover,  eyes  of  a  warm,  deep  hazel. 
She  carried  a  small  suitcase  and  looked  rather  down- 
cast. 

"Why,  Nancy,  what's  the  matter  and  where  are 
you  going?" 

"  I'm  leaving  for  Barnston  to-day  instead  of  next 
week.     Mrs.  Wilkes  is  shorthanded  so  she  asked  me 
to  come  sooner  and  Mother  is  upset  at  me  going." 
[30] 


Girlhood 

"Of  course  she  is,  but  then  you  will  only  be  a  few 
miles  away  and  you'll  come  home  for  week  ends,  so  it 
won't  be  so  bad." 

Her  eyes  brightened.  She  looked  around  at  the  cot- 
tage, its  white  curtains  fluttering  in  the  gentle  breeze 
and  at  the  gaily  flowered  plots  in  the  little  garden. 
"  I'd  never  leave  Sunnydale  for  good,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Of  course  not,  neither  would  I.  It's  the  only  place 
to  live  in."  I  took  her  hands.  "  Let's  tell  the  Fates," 
I  said  laughing.  "  Repeat  it  with  me.  It  is  here  and 
now  decided  by  Nancy  Brown  and  Margaret  Miller 
that  they  will  individually  and  respectively  never  leave 
their  native  and  beloved  Sunnydale !  " 

"  Never !  "  she  repeated  smiling. 

"  Well,  when  you've  learned  to  trim  hats,  I'll  give 
you  the  order  for  my  trousseau,"  I  said  shyly. 

"  Your  trousseau !     You're  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  Sir  Mark  Haselton.  I  came  to  tell  Mar- 
tha." 

"  You  must  be  very  happy ;  it  must  be  fine  to  be 
going  to  marry  a  man  like  that." 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  the  next  one,  I  suppose,"  I  answered, 
loving  the  warm  colour  which  spread  into  her  cheeks 
and  the  soft  smile  which  came  to  her  eyes.  It  was  well 
known  that  Sam  Hill,  Junior,  a  hard-working  young 
farmer,  worshipped  her,  but  she  was  far  too  young  to 
thing  of  engagements,  her  mother  maintained.  She 
was  so  shy  and  pretty  and  sweet  and  her  eyes  were 
full  of  dreams  as  she  bade  me  good-bye.  (Long 
afterwards  I  remembered  her  look  as  she  parted  from 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


me,  and  our  vow  made  in  our  youthful  confidence!) 

Martha  was  looking  out  of  the  latticed  window  as 
I  went  in  and  on  tiptoes  I  crept  behind  her  and  put 
my  hands  over  her  eyes. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  asked,  playing  our  old  childish 
game.  With  her  strong  hands  grasping  the  ends  of 
my  ringers,  smiling  she  began  the  usual  formula, 
"  Why  I  wonder,  can  it  be  Miss — " 

She  stopped.  She  had  touched  the  large  diamond 
on  the  third  ringer  of  my  left  hand. 

With  a  swift  turn  she  faced  me  and  looked  steadily 
into  my  eyes. 

"Is  it  Sir  Mark  Haselton?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  a  little  fluttered  by  her  direct 
gaze,  "  How  did  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  I  have  eyes!  Do  you  love  him,  you  haven't  been 
driven  into  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Martha,"  I  laughed,  choosing  to  answer 
the  latter  part  of  her  question  rather  than  the  first, 
"  who  would  do  the  driving?  " 

"  I  know  the  mistress.     You  do  love  him  ?  " 

"  Yes, — I  think  so — that  is,  of  course  I  do.  He's 
awfully  good  to  me  and  I  shall  be  able  to  do  such  a 
lot  for  the  people  here,  and  then  I  shall  always  be 
near  dear  old  Meadowmere." 

She  looked  at  me  keenly,  then  sighed.  "  So  many 
reasons!  Well,  I  wish  you  the  best  of  happiness." 

'  Thank  you,  now  tell  me  about  Nancy." 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  will  do  well.  I  know  Mrs.  Wilkes 
and  she  looks  after  her  apprentices  and  treats  them 

[32] 


Girlhood 

right.  Barnston  is  not  far  away,  so  I  shall  see  her 
often.  But  it  hurts  to  let  her  go,  after  having  her  by 
my  side  for  these  sixteen  years.  It's  awful  to  feel 
your  only  baby  is  going  out  into  the  world,  and  you 
can't  protect  her  any  more." 

Into  her  strong  face  came  a  look  of  love  which 
brought  an  ache  to  my  heart.  If  only  my  mother  felt 
like  that  about  me ! 

On  my  way  back  home,  I  came  past  the  window  of 
Father's  study,  and  hearing  his  voice,  I  was  just  going 
to  put  my  head  in  and  say  "  Hello !  "  when  he  stopped 
speaking  and  my  mother's  reply,  in  her  quiet  distinct 
tones,  drew  me  up  as  if  I  had  suddenly  been  turned  to 
stone. 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  now  with  what  I  have 
done  for  '  your  poor  little  Margaret '  as  you  call  her. 
Of  course,  if  Sir  Mark  had  not  been  like  all  the  rest 
of  you  men,  caught  by  a  pretty  young  face,  I  might  not 
have  managed  it,  but  you  must  admit  that  I  have 
'  greased  the  wheels  '  pretty  well." 

"  Did  you  drive  her  into  it  ?  I  won't  have  her  made 
unhappy,  I  shall " 

'You  can  rest  quite  assured;  of  course  I  pointed 
out  to  her  what  would  be  for  her  good,  but  she  made 
the  decision  herself." 

"  Poor  little  girl !  I  hope  she  will  be  happy.  If  only 
Tom  were  better !  " 

"  Tom  is  all  right,  it's  just  his  high  spirits,  he'll 
steady  down  later." 

"  I  hope  so,  or  more  than  ever  I  shall  regret  my — " 

[33] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Hush !  "  she  said,  as  my  foot  caught  a  dry  twig. 

I  hurried  away,  for  I  could  not  bear  that  they 
should  know  that  I  had  heard.  I  was  dumb  with 
shame.  So  that  was  the  meaning  of  my  mother's  new 
kindness ;  it  was  to  help  to  "  catch  "  Sir  Mark.  How 
hateful,  how  galling  to  my  pride.  But  one  thing  she 
could  not  take  from  me.  I  knew  that  even  if  he  had 
been  "  helped,"  he  felt  for  me  the  love  a  man  should 
feel  for  the  woman  he  is  going  to  marry,  the  love 
which  I  had  dreamed  I  should  feel  for  my  lover. 

Not  till  some  time  later  when  I  had  forgotten  a  lit- 
tle of  the  shame  and  hurt  of  being  so  eagerly  got  rid 
of,  did  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation  emerge 
from  my  subconscious  thoughts.  Then  I  was  puzzled. 
What  did  my  father  mean  by  regretting?  What 
thing  had  he  to  regret  or  repent,  he  with  his  quiet, 
orderly  life  among  his  books? 


[341 


BOOK  TWO: 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  AMERICAN 


BOOK  TWO  : 
THE  COMING  OF  THE  AMERICAN 

Chapter  One 

FOR  many  days  shame  that  I  had  been  '  got  rid  of ' 
so  eagerly,  alternated  with  curiosity  about  my 
Father's  regret.  But  I  .was  too  much  in  awe  of  both 
my  parents  to  ask  any  questions  about  this  mystery, 
if  indeed  there  were  one;  I  could  imagine  mother's 
cool  cutting  voice  saying, 

"  My  dear  Margaret,  don't  let  your  imagination 
run  away  with  you.  You  are  always  having  fancies." 

Furthermore,  curiosity  was  too  painfully  mixed  up 
with  hurt  and  shame  that  my  mother's  new  consider- 
ation which  I  had  hoped  was  the  beginning  of  affec- 
tion should  have  been  simply  due  to  a  desire  to  help 
me  to  '  catch '  Sir  Mark.  But  his  deference  and  the 
new  importance  which  came  to  me  through  being  his 
fiancee  were  effective  in  wiping  out  the  sting  of  hurt 
pride,  and  in  the  excitement  of  my  new  position  I  also 
began  to  forget  about  a  possible  mystery. 

Our  engagement  was  made  public  at  a  large  dinner 
party  and  later  there  was  a  ball  for  the  villagers  at 
the  Hall.  They  had  always  assumed  a  sort  of  pro- 
prietary interest  in  'our  Miss  Margaret '  and  now  in 

[37] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


the  fact  that  the  wealthy  and  influential  Sir  Mark 
Haselton  had  chosen  her  as  his  wife  they  felt  that  an 
honour  had  been  done  unto  them.  I  received  their 
flowers  and  curtseys  and  simple  good  wishes  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes.  In  the  glow  of 
that  evening  I  saw  a  vision  of  future  splendour  which 
dazzled  and  drove  away  doubts.  Sir  Mark  was  the 
most  important  man  in  the  county;  after  my  sensitive 
neglected  childhood  I  felt  a  proud  excitement  in  the 
thought  of  attaining  such  a  prominent  position  as  I 
should  have  as  his  wife.  I  saw  myself  presented  at 
Court,  queening  it  over  people  to  whom  I  had  always 
been  an  unimportant  child. 

It  was  only  when  the  old  vicar,  in  saying  good-bye, 
whispered  solemnly,  "  I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  we 
have  had,  my  dear,"  that  the  exaltation  gave  place  to 
a  feeling  of  seriousness.  The  beauty  of  his  married 
life  was  visible  in  every  look  and  gesture  and  with  a 
momentary  apprehension  I  thought — "  Can  we  be  as 
happy?  " 

On  the  whole,  however,  during  the  next  three 
months  I  was  quite  content.  The  new  consideration 
which  I  had  noticed  in  my  mother's  attitude  towards 
me  grew;  at  times  she  was  almost  kind,  as  if  some  of 
the  old  resentment  had  gone.  I  suppose  it  was  my 
engagement  which  made  the  difference;  she  loved  suc- 
cess and  in  the  light  of  future  importance  when  I 
should  be  Lady  Haselton,  I  assumed  a  different  aspect 
in  her  eyes  from  that  of  the  shy  awkward  girl  whom 
she  didn't  understand.  Was  it  my  engagement?  Or 
[38] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


was  it  something  else  which  I  could  not  comprehend? 
I  could  not  quite  forget  the  curious  look  which  had 
crossed  her  face  when  she  knew  that  I  was  engaged; 
it  had  almost  seemed  like  relief,  as  though  something 
she  feared  had  gone.  And  then  she  had  immediately 
smiled  and  wished  me  much  happiness. 

With  the  coming  of  July  my  engagement  took  a 
secondary  place  in  my  thoughts,  for  I  began  to  count 
the  days  to  Tom's  home-coming  for  the  long  vacation. 
How  I  was  looking  forward  to  seeing  him  after  more 
than  two  years !  But  when  my  big  handsome  brother 
arrived  and  I  waited  anxiously  for  his  careless  kiss,  I 
was  conscious  of  a  change.  He  seemed  so  much  older, 
restless,  so  different  from  the  sunny  good-tempered 
boy  to  whom  I'd  said  good-bye  before  he  went  to  Ox- 
ford and  I  to  Bournemouth. 

His  jaunty  "  Good  wishes,  old  girl,  hope  you'll  be 
happy !  "  did  not  ring  true,  and  the  next  words  jarred 
— "  You'll  be  quite  a  useful  sister,  won't  you?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Why,  with  all  that  wealth  you'll  always  be  able 
to  lend  a  fellow  a  fiver ! "  His  tone  was  jesting,  but 
underneath  there  seemed  to  be  something  else — I  felt 
sure  something  was  the  matter. 

How  very  much  that  something  was  I  was  soon  to 
know.  He  had  only  been  home  for  a  few  days  when 
with  a  shamefaced  air  he  came  to  me  and  asked  me 
if  I  could  not  get  Sir  Mark  to  lend  him  some 
money. 

"  Tom !  "  I  said,  aghast,  "  what  has  happened  ?   You 

[39] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


know  I  couldn't  ask  Sir  Mark,  it  would  be  horrible. 
Why  don't  you  get  it  from  Father?  " 

"  I  can't  get  a  penny  from  him,"  he  said  sulkily.  "  I 
told  him  I  was  in  debt,  and  he  nearly  had  hysterics  and 
said  he  wouldn't  give  me  another  sixpence  beyond  my 
allowance  till  I  left  Oxford.  We  had  a  row  over  the 
same  thing  last  time.  The  Mater  did  all  she  could, 
but  the  Governor  was  stubborn.  If  you  won't  help 
me  with  Sir  Mark,  well,  I  tell  you  frankly  I'm  in  a 
rather  deep  hole." 

"  But  father  gives  you  such  a  big  allowance,  how 
ever  could  you  spend  it  all  ?  " 

"  What  does  a  girl  know  about  how  money  goes  ? 
It's  enough  that  it  is  spent,  and  much  more  besides." 

"  But  can't  mother  help  you  ?  " 

"  The  bit  she  could  squeeze  up  wouldn*t  be  any 
use." 

"  Why,  how  much  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  couple  of  hundred  will  tide  over  the  worst, 
I  dare  say." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds !  "  I  cried  out  in  amazement. 
It  seemed  an  enormous  sum  to  me.  "  I  couldn't  ask 

Sir  Mark  for  all  that  money.  I  should  be  too  ashamed, 
j » 

"  It  would  only  be  a  loan,"  he  broke  in.  "  How- 
ever, if  you  won't,  I'm  not  going  to  beg,"  and  he 
walked  off. 

For  three  miserable  days  his  restless  unhappy  face 
was  before  me  and  I  was  always  trying  to  find  some 
other  way  to  help  him.  But  there  was  none.  I  felt 
[40] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


ashamed  at  doing  nothing  and  yet  indignant  that  he 
should  have  thrust  this  burden  on  me.  He  never  did 
bear  his  own  troubles.  Finally  a  week  later  Sir  Mark 
said  with  an  anxious  air, 

"What  is  the  matter,  Margaret?  You  have  been 
so  worried  the  last  few  days."  And  then  with  des- 
perate courage  I  burst  out, 

"  It's  Tom !  He  wants  some  money  badly,  he's  in 
debt  and  Father  won't  let  him  have  another  penny, 
and "  I  blushed  with  a  shame  I  could  not  hide. 

"Well,  well,  why  didn't  he  come  to  me?  I  dare 
say  we  can  put  Master  Tom  all  right.  I  must  give 
him  a  lecture,  too,"  he  answered  in  an  easy  tone,  with 
a  smile. 

How  kind  he  was !  My  heart  beat  with  a  passionate 
gratitude  at  his  willingness  to  help  and  the  tact  which 
had  made  my  task  so  much  easier  than  I  had  ex- 
pected. 

That  afternoon  Tom  came  to  me  with  a  happier 
face. 

"Thanks,  Margie.  Sir  Mark's  going  to  lend  me 
the  two  hundred.  He's  a  real  decent  sort." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  him !  "  My  admiration  was 
so  much  heightened  by  this  kindness  that  I  began  to 
look  forward  to  the  time  when  we  should  be  married, 
in  six  months  to  the  very  day.  How  much  good  I 
could  do;  every  time  I  went  through  the  village  I  saw 
myself  as  a  future  Lady  Bountiful,  laden  with  gifts 
and  sympathy,  spreading  happiness  among  these  people 
I  loved. 

[41] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


But  in  the  meantime  Tom's  vacation  to  which  I  had 
so  much  looked  forward  was  turning  out  badly.  He 
was  so  critical  of  everyone  and  everything;  in  spite  of 
Sir  Mark's  generosity  he  did  not  hesitate  to  scoff  at 
him  as  being  '  slow  '  and  old-fashioned. 

"  I  hope  you'll  buck  him  up  a  bit,  Marg,"  he  said  one 
day,  "  for  instance,  I  should  think  you'd  persuade  him 
to  buy  a  new  car  or  two.  That  old  bus  of  his  is  a  dis- 
grace." 

"  But  he  doesn't  like  the  motor.  He  loves  his  horses 
too  much,  and  so  do  I.  The  car's  only  a  con- 
venience." 

"  It'll  soon  be  a  relic.  Heavens,  he  might  be  in  the 
eighties  instead  of  1912 — that's  all." 

Though  I  resented  this  criticism  of  Sir  Mark  I  did 
not  answer,  because  we  had  enough  unpleasantness  at 
home  without  my  adding  to  it.  For  Father  was  coldly 
angry  with  Tom  and  of  cours£  Mother  was  *  at  dag- 
gers drawn '  with  Father  because  he  wouldn't  help 
her  darling.  I  don't  think  Tom  had  told  her  of  Sir 
Mark's  help — though  to  be  sure  it  was  not  likely  that 
she  would  mention  her  knowledge  to  me. 

As  the  days  went  by  I  began  to  have  an  uneasy  feel- 
ing that  Tom  was  still  in  financial  difficulties.  He 
generally  seemed  to  be  hanging  around  when  the  post- 
man came,  and  one  morning  I  saw  his  face  go  white 
as  he  stuffed  a  letter  into  his  pocket.  I  think  everyone 
except  perhaps  Mother,  was  glad  when  he  began  to 
go  for  long  rides  by  himself,  a  habit  which  grew,  for 
as  he  once  said  to  me,  "  There's  not  much  fun  for  a 

[42] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


fellow  in  such  an  atmosphere  of  '  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself,  sir  ' !  " 

One  day  as  I  was  coming  back  from  a  tennis  party 
to  which  Tom  had  been  invited  but  to  which  he 
wouldn't  go — "  I  don't  enjoy  talking  to  a  lot  of  young, 
giggling  girls,"  he  had  said  in  a  lordly  voice — I  saw 
him  returning  from  his  ride.  His  face  was  flushed 
and  his  eyes  sparkling.  He  looked  very  handsome  and 
reckless  and  somewhat  defiant — no  wonder  people 
loved  him.  He  brought  a  thrill  of  lawlessness,  of  the 
outside  world  into  my  quiet  life,  and  in  a  sudden  de- 
sire for  his  confidence  and  love,  I  said  as  I  patted  his 
horse, 

"  Hello,  Tom !    Where  have  you  been  to  this  time?  " 

"  Oh,  been  on  a  ride  to  Barnston,"  he  answered  care- 
lessly. 

"  Why,  that's  where  Nancy  is  learning  millinery,"  I 
exclaimed,  "  you  didn't'happen  to  see  her,  I  suppose?" 

"Why  in  the  name  of  goodness  should  I  happen 
to  see  her!"  he  sneered  in  an  irritable  voice,  and  I 
sighed  as  I  thought  how  my  best  efforts  went  astray. 

I  think  it  was  a  relief  to  everyone,  including  Tom 
himself  when,  early  in  September,  he  left  Meadow- 
mere  on  his  way  back  to  Oxford,  via  Melling  where 
he  was  going  to  stay  with  some  friends  till  term 
began.  His  moodiness  and  surliness,  so  different  from 
the  old  sunny  good  nature,  had  been  like  a  storm 
hanging  over  our  heads;  we  never  knew  when  the 
thunder  and  lightning  would  burst  upon  us,  and  a 
thing  which  seemed  to  please  him  one  day,  irritated 

[43] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


him  the  next.  With  his  going  Mother  gradually 
resumed  her  ordinary  manner  towards  Father — at 
least  outwardly — and  Meadowmere  settled  into  its 
usual  peaceful  ways,  to  my  great  relief,  for  the  pre- 
vious weeks  of  tension  had  made  me  nervous  and 
miserable.  I  liked  things  to  run  smoothly  and  peace- 
fully. 

Sir  Mark's  deference  made  me  very  happy. 
After  always  having  the  feeling  of  being  unloved  and 
in  the  way,  it  was  nice  to  be  suddenly  treated  as  a 
vastly  important  person  whose  wishes  and  whims  were 
the  chief  interest  in  another's  life.  We  were  such 
good  friends  and  shared  so  many  interests.  His  love 
was  so  evident  in  his  thought  fulness  for  me  and  in  his 
desire  to  give  me  pleasure,  and  he  was  always  so  tact- 
ful, always  seemed  to  have  such  an  instinct  for  doing 
exactly  the  right  thing,  that  my  heart  responded  with 
increasing  admiration  and  gratitude. 

If  there  had  been  no  other  side  to  me  how  entirely 
happy  I  should  have  been!  But  there  was  another 
'  me',  there  was  that  part  of  me  which  had  been  atune 
to  the  touch  of  springtime  in  the  air,  which  had 
thrilled  to  the  sense  of  desirability  in  the  mating  of 
youth  with  youth,  when  young  new  things  were  born. 
Sometimes  there  would  come  over  me  a  terrible  feel- 
ing of  despair  that  I  was  missing  something — some 
big  vital  emotion  which  I  ought  to  know.  Sometimes 
at  night,  when  looking  into  my  mirror,  I  stood  with 
thick  dark  hair  flowing  around  me,  my  white  figure 
standing  out  from  the  darkness  of  the  panelled  walls, 

[44] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


my  thoughts  would  go  dreaming  on,  and  my  heart 
would  begin  to  beat.  I  would  listen  for  a  sound  in 
the  rustling  of  the  trees — almost  I  could  hear  a  low 
voice  calling  me,  a  voice  of  youth,  buoyant  and  vital — 
almost  I  could  see  a  youthful  figure  coming  out  of  the 
silence  of  the  night  to  my  window  and  with  or  without 
my  will  carrying  me  away  into  the  world.  And  with 
a  thrill,  half  fear,  half  delicious  joy,  I  would  imagine 
what  marriage  to  such  a  one  might  mean.  .  .  . 
Then  suddenly  into  my  wild  dreams  would  step  the 
figure  of  Sir  Mark,  my  future  husband.  And  down 
would  topple  the  weave  of  my  imagination  and  calm 
safe  reality  still  my  beating  heart.  It  was  with  a  feel- 
ing of  shame  that  I  buried  such  thoughts  deep 
down  beneath  the  surface  of  my  quiet  life;  they 
were  so  disturbing  that  I  suspected  they  must  be 
wrong. 

About  a  week  after  Tom  had  gone  back  to  Oxford, 
I  saw  Sir  Mark  coming  across  the  path  with  a  big  flat 
portfolio  under  his  arm.  To  my  laughing  inquiry  of 
"  What  is  that?  "  he  answered, 

"  Hush,  it's  a  secret,  I  want  to  show  you  some- 
thing." 

We  went  into  the  library  and  with  the  air  of  a  con- 
spirator he  began  untying  knots.  "  Shut  your  eyes 
for  a  minute !  Now ! "  I  looked  down  on  a  vast 
array  of  plans  spread  on  the  table. 

"Cottages?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  build  six,  and  I  want  your  ad- 
vice on  the  housekeeping  part.  I  want  the  kitchen  and 

[45] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


all  that  appeals  to  the  woman  to  be  as  perfect  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  How  jolly,  you're  going  to  make  them  model  cot- 
tages, then?" 

"Yes,"  and  we  went  over  the  plans,  absorbed  in 
the  questions  of  light  and  heat  and  cooking  arrange- 
ments. 

Suddenly  in  a  moment's  pause,  he  raised  his  head, 
and  taking  my  hands  across  the  table,  said  solemnly, 
"  Are  they  just  what  you  would  like  to  build  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  why—" 

"  Because  I  want  them  to  be  my  wedding  present  to 
you." 

"Mark,  you  really  mean  that!  Oh,  how  good  of 
you — and  they  are  to  be  my  very  own  ?  " 

"  Absolutely,  to  run  as  you  please." 

I  was  full  of  very  deep  gratitude.  How  splendid  he 
was!  Nothing  could  have  pleased  me  so  well.  I 
thought  of  six  of  my  favourite  villagers  to  whom  I 
could  let  these  model  little  homes,  and  how  delighted 
the  women  would  be  with  the  extra  conveniences 
which  would  save  them  so  much  time  and  labour.  This 
further  proof  of  his  thought  for  what  would  please 
me  drew  a  sudden  emotion  from  my  heart.  I  leaned 
forward  and  kissed  him  with  more  feeling  than  I  had 
ever  had  before. 

Footsteps  sounded  across  the  stone  hall,  and  I 
drew  back  quickly,  as  Sir  Mark's  man  came  to  the 
door  with  a  letter.  "  As  it's  marked  '  urgent  and  im- 
portant,' I  thought  you  ought  to  have  it  at  once,  sir." 
[46] 


The  Coining  of  the  American 


"  Quite  right,  James.  You  need  not  wait,  I  will 
come  over  if  an  immediate  reply  is  necessary." 

"  It's  from  Bob,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  pardon  me? " 
and  as  I  nodded  he  cut  the  envelope. 

Robert,  his  younger  brother,  lived  in  London  and 
was  a  partner  in  a  big  engineering  firm.  I  saw  annoy- 
ance flit  over  Mark's  face  as  he  hastily  read  the  scrawl. 
"  It's  too  bad  of  Bob !  Here  he  is  sending  me  a  vis- 
itor, an  American!  Whatever  shall  I  do  with  him? 
It  is  so  quiet  here  and  I  am  sure  he  will  be  bored  to 
death.  You'll  have  to  help  me  amuse  him,  Margaret !  " 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  His  name  is  Boynton.  He's  the  son  of  their  rep- 
resentative in  America,  and  has  been  staying  with  Bob 
in  London.  He  is  travelling  for  a  time  before  going 
back  home  to  help  his  father.  Bob  says  he  is  awfully 
clever  and  has  just  come  through  college  with  flying 
colours.  Says  he  wants  him  to  come  to  Sunnydale  so 
that  he  may  see  a  bit  of  real  English  country  life — 
that's  like  Bob.  He  probably  said  to  him  *  Tell  you 
what  I'll  do,  my  brother  has  a  place  in  the  country,  the 
very  thing,  I'll  get  him  to  ask  you  down  and  he  can 
show  you  round/  The  poor  young  man  wouldn't  be 
given  a  chance  to  say  '  yes '  or  '  no,'  it  would  all  be 
arranged  in  a  minute."  He  looked  at  the  letter  again. 
"  Good  heavens,  he's  coming  to-morrow !  " 

"  I'll  help  you  to  amuse  him,  and  one  thing,  if  he's 
too  bored,  he  can  always  get  a  telegram  calling  him 
back  to  London,"  I  laughed. 

"  I  was  in  America  for  a  few  weeks  once,  and  they 

[471 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


seemed  to  be  always  doing  things  He'll  probably 
want  to  rush  around,  it  makes  me  breathless  to  think 
of  it.  I  must  get  some  people  together  for  dinner  to 
meet  him."  Then  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Now  our  walks 
and  talks  will  be  interrupted,  Margaret." 

"  It  will  only  be  for  a  short  time,"  I  answered 
softly. 

A  stranger  was  such  an  unusual  occurrence  at 
Sunnydale  that  I  felt  a  flutter  of  excitement  as  I 
dressed  for  the  small  dinner  party  the  next  evening. 
By  good  luck  I  had  a  dress  which  I  had  only  worn 
twice;  it  was  a  very  soft  pale  pink,  the  pink  which 
added  colour  to  my  cheeks.  "  He's  young  and  clever, 
that  much  I  know.  Is  he  tall  and  thin,  or  short  and 
fat  ?  Are  his  eyes  brown  or  blue  ?  "  Then  I  laughed 
at  myself.  "Why,  what  does  it  matter  to  you?  An 
engaged  young  woman  shouldn't  be  wondering  about 
the  colour  of  a  strange  man's  eyes !  " 

The  vicar  and  his  wife  were  there,  the  doctor 
and  his  wife,  Father  and  Mother  and  I.  I  was  talking 
to  Lady  Haselton  in  the  small  drawing-room,  when  I 
heard  Sir  Mark  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  saying,  "  We 
are  not  a  large  party  to-night,  as  I  thought  you  might 
feel  a  little  tired  after  your  journey."  And  a  voice 
replied, 

"  That's  mighty  thoughtful  of  you,  but  I'm  not  at 
all  tired  thanks,  I  scarcely  know  what  it  feels  like." 

It  was  a  boyish  voice,  low  pitched,  with  some  tone 
which  was  new  to  me.  Through  the  open  doorway  I 
caught  sight  of  a  tall  slim  figure  coming  down  the 

[48] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


stairs  and  in  a  moment  I  knew  that  the  tone  of  the 
voice  matched  the  poise  of  the  man  in  confidence  and 
efficiency.  It  was  curious  how  in  that  momentary 
glimpse  I  had  so  strong  an  impression  of  a  calm  con- 
sciousness of  doing  the  work  in  hand  well.  Although 
at  the  moment  this  only  happened  to  be  coming  down 
stairs,  there  was  purpose  and  concentration  in  the  do- 
ing of  it;  the  figure  seemed  to  poise  on  each  step,  vital 
and  vivid,  and  then  descend  with  a  firm  tread,  ready 
for  what  was  at  the  bottom,  prepared  for  anything 
which  might  happen.  Yet  there  was  absolutely  no  sug- 
gestion of  pose,  it  seemed  quite  a  natural  manner. 

I  had  been  so  fascinated  by  watching  his  entrance 
that  I  started  when  Sir  Mark's  voice  at  my  elbow 
said, 

"  Margaret,  this  is  Mr.  Boynton — Miss  Margaret 
Miller." 

I  looked  up  into  pale  grey  eyes,  set  rather  deep  in 
a  pale  face,  in  marked  contrast  to  Sir  Mark's  healthy 
tan.  His  fair  hair  and  fair  eyebrows  gave  him  a 
colourless  appearance,  and  I  was  disappointed  for  a 
moment  that  the  strength  and  purpose  of  that  figure 
coming  down  the  stairs  did  not  seem  to  be  apparent 
in  the  face.  But  only  for  a  moment;  as  we  uttered 
the  few  words  of  polite  conversation  before  dinner 
was  announced,  I  was  conscious  of  a  quick  searching 
glance,  a  confident  laugh  which  showed  strong  white 
teeth,  an  air  of  being  very  sure  of  himself,  very  con- 
fident. 

During  dinner  there  was  an  animated  discussion 

[49] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


on  social  problems,  housing  conditions,  and  the  differ- 
ence in  living  in  the  two  countries.  Sir  Mark  and 
Father  were,  of  course,  very  much  interested  in  such 
questions,  and,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  Mr.  Boynton 
seemed  to  have  studied  the  problems  and  to  have 
something  useful  and  intelligent  to  say.  Moreover  his 
opinions  were  so  confidently  delivered  that  they  gave 
me  the  impression  that  he  must  be  older  than  he 
looked,  for  Tom,  for  instance,  with  all  his  self-confi- 
dence, would  scarcely  have  dared  such  a  positive  posi- 
tion with  such  old  '  hands '  as  Father  and  Sir  Mark. 
Yet  when  I  considered  that  he  had  just  left  college, 
I  knew  that  he  could  not  be  more  than  twenty-three 
or  four. 

I  went  home  with  a  very  vivid  impression  of  his 
eager  force  fulness,  combined  with  a  sense  of  youth 
and  buoyancy  and  vitality.  As  I  undressed,  scraps  of 
conversation  in  that  low  eager  voice  kept  fluttering 
through  my  mind.  Youth,  vitality,  buoyancy !  Three 
of  the  things  I  had  dreamed  of  in  my  lover!  Then 
impatiently  I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  throwing 
the  pink  dress  on  a  chair,  I  thought  with  a  feeling  of 
flatness — "Those  silly  youthful  dreams  are  over. 
Now  I'm  engaged,  I'm  going  to  be  the  important  and 
wealthy  Lady  Haselton." 


[SO] 


Chapter  Two 


IT  had  become  a  custom  that  I  should  accompany 
Sir  Mark  when  he  went  for  his  morning  tramp 
over  some  part  of  his  immediate  estate,  a  custom 
which  I  enjoyed  immensely,  for  he  discussed  with  me 
his  plans  for  the  welfare  of  his  tenants  and  it 
increased  the  delightful  sense  of  my  future  impor- 
tance. When  I  went  out  to  meet  him  the  morning 
after  the  dinner,  there  was  another  figure  on  the  lawn 
and  I  had  a  curious  impression  of  the  entrance  of  a 
strange  changing  newness  into  our  quiet  midst. 

As  Sir  Mark  was  talking  to  his  steward,  Mr. 
Boynton  and  I  stood  for  a  moment  looking  over  the 
parkland  which  separated  the  two  houses. 

"It's  beautiful,  isn't  it?"  I  asked. 

"  Very." 

At  his  tone,  I  looked  round  quickly.  "  You  don't 
like  it?"  I  said  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do,  it  is  beautiful,  as  you  say,  but " 

He  hesitated  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"But?" 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  live  here." 

"Why?"  I  asked  amazed. 

"  It's  too  quiet." 

"  But  that's  part  of  its  beauty,  it's  so  restful." 

"Restful!"    he    broke    out    impatiently.     "Who 

[51] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


wants  rest?  I  want  work,  expansion,  life — not  stag- 
nation. No  sir,  peace  doesn't  appeal  to  Eddie  B." 

I  winced.  His  words  seemed  an  affront  to  the 
dignity  and  beauty  of  the  scene  before  us, — and 
'  Eddie  B.' — how  that  grated ! 

"What's  the  matter — don't  you  like  my  name?" 
I  flushed  a  bright  crimson,  so  surprised  at  the  quick- 
ness with  which  he  had  read  my  thought  that  I  could 
not  make  any  reply. 

"If  it's  any  consolation  to  you,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
will  tell  you  that  it's  really  Edward,  but  I  hardly 
remember  hearing  that  since  my  christening.  Two 
weeks  later  someone  called  me  Eddie,  and  the  deed 
was  done.  I  have  a  fine  memory,  haven't  I  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  full  of  laughter.  Was  he  laughing 
at  me?  I  was  relieved  when  next  minute  Sir  Mark 
joined  us,  and  I  contrasted  the  dignity  of  his  name 
and  manner  with  those  of  the  newcomer. 

We  walked  on  through  the  village,  much  of  which 
had  belonged  to  Father's  family  for  generations,  for 
though  his  estate  was  not  strictly  entailed  like  that  of 
the  Haseltons,  and  cou!4  have  been  willed  out  of  the 
family,  of  course  no  Miller  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing,  we  were  all  too  proud  of  the  connection. 

We  passed  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Hall,  who  was 
doubled  up  with  rheumatism,  but  who  called  out  a 
quavering  "  Marning  Squi-er  "  as  we  went  by,  and  I 
explained  to  Mr.  Boynton  that  the  '  Squi-er  '  was  only 
a  courtesy  title,  but  it  had  been  given  to  so  many 
Squire  Millers  that  no  one  knew  who  was  the  first  to 

[52] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


receive  it  and  it  had  become  just  as  real  to  Sunnydale 
as  though  ratified  by  all  sorts  of  letters-patent. 

As  we  passed  the  smithy,  great  John  raised  a  finger 
to  his  wet  forehead,  roaring  his  greeting  so  that  it 
might  be  heard  above  the  clatter,  and  Mr.  Boynton 
stopped,  with  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  admira- 
tion at  his  splendid  form — "  What  a  magnificent 
man!" 

"  Yes,  isn't  he  ?  "  I  answered,  "  and  his  brain  is  as 
fine  as  his  body.  He's  our  *  show  man  '.  He  was  so 
clever  at  the  village  school  and  so  fond  of  books 

that "     I  hesitated,  glancing  at  Mark,  who  was 

always  averse  to  having  any  of  his  good  deeds  known 
— "  that  some  one  wanted  to  send  him  to  a  good  school 
and  let  him  try  for  a  scholarship." 

"Why  didn't  he  go?" 

"  His  father  wouldn't  let  him.  Said  he  was  the  only 
son  and  the  smithy  had  to  be  carried  on,  and  he 
himself  was  getting  stifT  in  his  joints." 

"  What  a  darned  shame !  "  said  Mr.  Boynton. 

"  Oh,  I  can  understand  the  old  man's  feelings,"  Sir 
Mark  answered  quietly,  "  I  think  in  the  back  of  his 
mind  was  also  the  fear  of  being  beholden  to  any  one. 
He's  a  type  of  sturdy  independence  which  sheers 
away  in  fear  from  the  mere  suspicion  of  '  charity.' ' 

"  But  he  might  have  regarded  the  money  as  a 
loan." 

"  If  you  knew  the  hardship  of  these  people's  lives 
you  would  realise  that  a  loan  becomes  a  gigantic  bur- 
den; it  is  something  to  be  feared.  They  live  from  day 

[53] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


to  day  with  just  enough  to  keep  things  going.  Be- 
sides, there  would  have  been  no  smithy!"  Sir  Mark 
smiled  humorously. 

"  No  smithy !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Boynton  scornfully, 
"  what  a  loss  in  proportion  to  an  education." 

"  But  you  must  remember  that  his  family  has  been 
here  probably  as  long  as  ours.  In  his  eyes  a  Sunny- 
dale  without  a  smithy  run  by  his  family  would  be  a 
great  loss  to  the  community,  a  great  failure  of  tradi- 
tion." 

"  Hang  tradition !  "  said  Mr.  Boynton.  "  Too  much 
progress  is  tied  up  because  of  tradition.  Why  should 
I  do  things  in  the  way  my  grandfather  did?  Why 
shouldn't  I  find  out  the  way  which  suits  me  best  and 
the  time  I  live  in  ?  "  With  a  gesture  he  flung  the  past 
away  from  him.  "I  have  the  right  to  live  my  life  in 
the  way  which  will  develop  me  best." 

I  looked  at  Sir  Mark,  hoping  he  would  rise  up  and 
crush  this  new  doctrine.  My  conservative  ancestors, 
my  love  of  old  things,  the  traditions  of  my  family 
were  all  against  this  new  creed  in  which  the  individual 
was  all-powerful;  of  what  use  were  all  the  sacrifices 
made  for  '  The  Family  '  and  its  honour,  if  such  a  creed 
were  right?  But  Sir  Mark  only  smiled,  a  wise  tol- 
erant smile  which  somehow  irritated  me.  For  it  made 
him  seem  so  old  compared  with  Mr.  Boynton's  eager 
views  and  with  my  own  feelings  of  resentment  at  this 
attempt  to  sweep  away  my  ideals.  Why  wasn't  he 
more — intolerant  ? 

"  Think  of  the  waste  of  brains  and  power,"  the 

[54] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


latter  went  on,  seemingly  carried  away  by  the  feelings 
which  this  doggedness  on  the  old  smith's  part  had 
aroused — "  Why,  if  he'd  been  in  America,  his  father 
would  have  jumped  at  such  a  chance,  at  any  rate  the 
son  himself  would  have  seized  it.  There,  a  man  like 
this  would  have  risen,  achieved,  done  something  big — 
why  he  might  have  gotten  the  leadership  of  the  coun- 
try into  his  own  hands !  " 

"  Perhaps  old  John  is  rather  an  exception,"  I  half 
apologised,  his  ardour  almost  convincing  me  of  the 
old  man's  folly. 

"  I  should  hope  he  is,  he  ought  to  be  electrocuted 
for  missing  such  a  chance  for  his  son." 

"  But  the  son  is  happy  and  healthy  and  has  a  jolly 
wife  and  two  fine  children,  though  he's  only  twenty- 
two,"  I  said,  defending  our  village — "  What  more 
could  he  have?  " 

"  Power,  wealth,  achievement!  Oh,  it's  awful,  such 
a  waste ! " 

"Would  he  have  been  any  happier?"  I  asked 
softly. 

"  What  does  that  matter?  It's  the  power  to  do,  to 
achieve,  to  leave  your  mark  on  the  world,  to  make  a 
name  for  your  son — " 

"  Who  would  inherit  his  father's  traditions,"  I 
interrupted  shyly. 

He  laughed.  It  was  such  a  boyish,  honest,  care-free 
laugh  and  sounded  so  young.  I  found  out  later  that  he 
was  always  ready  to  laugh,  even  if  it  were  against 
himself.  One  moment  he  would  be  driving  his  hard 

[55] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


logical  arguments  with  egotistical  power,  and  the  next 
he  would  laugh — and  his  arguments  would  be  buried 
fathoms  deep  under  his  youth  and  buoyancy  and  nat- 
ural lovableness. 

In  his  argumentative  egotistical  moods  his  attitude 
towards  our  customs  and  habits  piqued  me.  When- 
ever we  met  some  discussion  seemed  to  crop  up  and 
he  would  show  me  the  splendours  and  glories  of  the 
restless  striving  world  outside,  as  he  tried  to  convince 
me  that  his  was  the  more  desirable  life.  Every  day 
I  was  more  eager  to  show  him  why  I  loved  the  peace 
and  beauty  of  our  country  life;  I  wanted  to  make  him 
admit  that  it  was  desirable,  and  when  he  went  back  to 
his  existence  of  strife  and  hurry,  I  wanted  him  to 
remember  this  visit  as  being  different  from  anything 
else  he  would  ever  have. 

So  it  was  generally  I  who  suggested  the  beauty  spots 
to  which  we  might  drive,  or  the  picnics  and  tennis 
parties  which  we  might  arrange,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  amused  and  interested. 

"  Hello ! "  I  would  'phone,  when  I  happened  to  be 
going  to  read  to  old  Mrs.  Bell,  or  taking  some  nour- 
ishing food  to  some  one  who  was  sick — "  Do  you 
want  to  come  and  see  how  we-in-the-country  work?" 

"  Work !  "  he  would  scoff,  "  you  don't  call  this  work. 
You  know  you  enjoy  being  a  good  Samaritan." 

And  when  we  came  to  the  farm  of  Sam  Hill,  where 
hard-working  Sam  Junior  was  apparently  expressing 
his  hope  of  a  future  with  Nancy  by  means  of  the 
energy  of  his  digging,  Mr.  Boynton  glanced  at  me  with 

[56] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


mischief  in  his  eyes,  exclaiming,  "  Now  that's  the  first 
man  I've  seen  who  seems  to  be  real  busy !  " 

"  It's  only  because  you  can't  read  our  signs.  Your 
language  is  different,"  I  retorted. 

And  presently  he  began  to  realise  that  Sir  Mark's 
apparently  leisurely  life  contained  an  immense  amount 
of  accomplished  duty  and  that  his  courtesy  to  his  guest 
was  interfering  with  meetings,  and  Justice  of  the 
Peace  work,  and  the  management  of  his  estate  which 
was  scattered  over  many  villages;  and  this  realisation 
brought  forth  the  tactful  suggestion — 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  poke  about  on  my  own,  Sir 
Mark.  You  must  have  lots  to  do,  and  I'd  enjoy  it. 
I'm  interested  in  your  villagers,  they  are  a  new  -people 
to  me." 

When  he  first  began  to  "  poke  about,"  I  think  the 
people  looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  curiosity.  His  silk 
socks  and  shirts,  his  immaculate  suits  and  thin  shoes 
amused  them.  They  were  in  such  contrast  to  Sir 
Mark's  suit  of  Harris  tweed,  which  had  certainly  not 
been  born  yesterday,  and  the  thick  boots  in  which  he 
tramped  around.  But  gradually  Mr.  Boynton  made 
friends  with  the  people;  he  bore  down  their  natural 
reserve  with  strangers  in  the  same  easy  way  as  he  soon 
made  us  feel  that  he  was  part  of  our  life  in  Sunnydale, 
and  no  longer  a  visitor.  His  sympathetic  manner  and 
his  intelligent  talk  about  all  social  conditions,  and 
perhaps  more  than  anything  his  love  for  the  village 
children  soon  opened  the  hearts  of  Sunnydale. 

His  opinions  about  social  conditions  were,  as  he 

[57] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


laughingly  admitted  to  me,  entirely  collegiate  and 
theoretical  as  he  had  had  no  practical  experience,  but 
that  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  just  as  sure  about 
his  points  as  though  he  had  been  an  old  man  who  had 
spent  his  life  amid  the  problems  of  the  welfare  of 
people  whose  wages  are  insufficient  for  the  means  of 
living. 

There  was,  however,  nothing  theoretical  about  his 
love  of  children.  I  found  him  one  day,  sitting  in  the 
cottage  of  the  smith,  nursing  the  younger  child  and 
chatting  to  the  wife,  entirely  at  his  ease.  Her  face 
was  a  study;  delight  in  the  conversation  of  this  "  pleas- 
ant spoken  young  gentleman,"  as  she  described  him  to 
me  later,  mingled  with  the  bothersome  feeling  that  it 
was  not  proper  to  be  on  such  terms  of  familiarity 
with  a  guest  at  the  Hall.  But  the  baby  had  no  such 
qualms.  It  was  frankly  delighted  with  him  and  the 
sister  stood  by,  finger  in  mouth,  watching  him  shyly, 
but  with  a  grin,  as  he  tossed  the  child  and  talked  to 
the  mother.  I  smiled  as  I  thought  how  different  he 
looked  from  when  he  was  propounding  one  of  his 
theories;  unconsciously  I  thought  of  Sir  Mark  in  the 
same  position,  and  with  a  little  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  impossible 
even  to  imagine  it. 

Mr.  Boynton  apparently  enjoyed  his  *  poking  about ' 
the  village.  "  I  have  been  talking  to  old  John,"  he  said 
one  day.  "  He  was  sitting  in  the  sun,  which  person- 
ally I  thought  just  about  hot  enough  to  make  my 
middle-weight  top  coat  comfortable,  though  he  seemed 

[58] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


to  think  it  dandy  and  warm ! "  He  broke  off  long 
enough  to  catch  my  eyes  with  a  mischievous  gleam, 
for  he  had  often  teased  me  that  I  did  not  know  what 
sunshine  was — before  he  went  on,  "  He's  a  fine  old 
chap  with  some  amazing  ideas.  When  I  came  to  him 
he  got  up  and  touched  his  cap  and  I  was  half  expect- 
ing a  meek  '  Yes,  sir/  *  No,  sir '  to  any  remarks  I 
might  make " 

I  laughed  out  in  open  enjoyment  of  Mr.  Boynton's 
expression. 

"  Yes,  you're  right,  he  certainly  told  me  where  I 
got  off.  He's  a  puzzle  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  explain  him,"  said  Sir  Mark. 
"You're  my  guest;  his  respect  was  given  to  an  old 
institution  which  I  happen  to  represent.  As  man  to 
man  he  and  I  are  equal,  his  opinion  as  good  as  mine 
— a  great  deal  better  in  many  cases  as  he  doesn't 
trouble  to  hide!  I  sometimes  wonder  what  will  hap- 
pen if  we  as  a  nation  grow  out  of  our  fixed  habit  of 
reverence  for  old  institutions,  old  traditions.  The 
change  has  begun,  the  modern  mind  grows  away  from 
reverence.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  be  the  better  or  the 
worse  for  it." 

"  Well,  no  one  can  accuse  us  of  being  overstocked 
in  that  commodity,  yet  we  seem  to  thrive  mighty  well 
without  it,"  said  Mr.  Boynton. 

"  That's  different,  but  if  you  take  away  something 
which  has  always  been  there,  you  must  put  something 
in  its  place,  or  there's  chaos.  What  are  we  going  to 
put,  I  wonder  ?  " 

[59] 


Chapter  Three 


THE  early  morning  tramp  for  the  three  of  us 
became  a  daily  custom.  Sometimes  I  would  be 
waiting  for  them  at  the  stile  which  made  a  track 
through  the  fence  between  Meadowmere  and  the  Hall 
— sometimes  I  would  hear  the  gay  "Halloo!  "  before 
I  had  started,  and  an  eager  figure  and  a  sedate  one 
would  be  waiting  for  me  on  the  lawn,  greeting  me 
with  a  "  Beaten  you  this  morning,  Miss  Lazybones !  " 
And  in  the  cool  bright  September  air  we  would  walk 
and  talk  till  it  was  time  for  luncheon,  Sir  Mark  stop- 
ping every  now  and  then  to  attend  to  some  detail  of 
management,  Mr.  Boynton  and  I  discussing  the 
Universe;  when  with  glowing  cheeks  we  would  come 
back  either  to  the  Hall  or  to  Meadowmere,  and 
astonish  everyone  with  our  enormous  appetites.  The 
American's  pale  grey  eyes  glowed  in  a  face  which  soon 
was  as  tanned  as  Sir  Mark's. 

"  Splendid  air  this  must  be,"  he  said  one  day,  "  I 
feel  so  fine  and  full  of  energy." 

"  So   you   do   admit  it  has   some   advantages,"    I 

retorted  laughing,  and  then,  of  course,  there  we  were 

in  one  of  our  arguments  again.    I  turned  to  Sir  Mark 

for  confirmation;  and  quite  suddenly  it  occurred  to 

[60] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


me  that  during  so  many  of  our  heated  discussions,  he 
was  only  an  onlooker — an  onlooker  with  a  benign  air 
of  wisdom,  who  could  afford  to  smile  at  the  eager 
egotistical  point  of  view  of  Youth.  I  wished  he 
would  not  just  look  on;  it  made  him  seem  so  old  in 
comparison  with  Mr.  Boynton,  and  after  all  he  was 
not  so  old !  I  wished  he  would  not  stand  there  like 
a  figure  of  old  Father  Time  watching  the  gambols  of 
two  silly  young  animals!  Gradually  I  found  myself 
criticising  his  attitude  towards  Life;  why  couldn't  he 
be  more  energetic,  more  confident,  more  like  the  eager 
Mr.  Boynton?  Then  immediately  I  would  check  my- 
self with  a  feeling  of  disloyalty,  and  think  how  beastly 
I  was  to  compare  him  with  anyone. 

After  the  morning  tramp,  there  was  a  tennis  party, 
or  a  picnic,  or  a  drive,  or  a  gallop  over  soft,  springy 
turf;  and  in  the  evenings,  comfortably  tired  after  our 
day  in  the  open  air,  we  would  gather  round  the  huge 
glowing  fire  which  was  very  welcome  in  the  cool 
autumn  evenings,  or  get  up  an  impromptu  dance  in 
the  great  hall  of  Sir  Mark's  house,  or  a  game  of 
cards  with  the  vicar,  or  the  doctor.  Being  a  guest 
of  Sir  Mark's,  Mr.  Boynton  was  of  course  welcomed 
into  every  house,  but  it  was  his  own  personality  which 
so  soon  made  him  at  home  in  the  heart  of  our  quiet 
happy  life. 

He  had  been  with  us  a  week  before  there  was  a 
chance  to  take  him  to  visit  Martha,  and  as  Sir  Mark 
was  inspecting  a  fence  which  needed  repairing,  I 
called  out,  "  We  are  just  going  down  to  Martha's 

[61] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


cottage.  Will  you  call  for  us  there  ?  "  before  waving 
good-bye  and  disappearing  through  the  trees. 

"  He's  not  even  looking  at  you,"  said  Mr.  Boynton. 
"  He's  just  buried  in  his  fence." 

"  How  could  he  be  buried  in  a  fence  ?  "  I  laughed. 

"  Gee,  aren't  you  literal  ?  I  suppose  you'd  like  me  to 
say,  '  Sir  Mark  did  not  perceive  you,  Miss  Miller.  He 
is  entirely  interested  in  the  business  of  inspecting  the 
fence.' " 

For  a  second  an  odd  pang  ran  through  me  as  I 
thought  that  was  almost  how  Mark  would  have  ex- 
pressed it,  then  my  mood  of  gaiety  and  light-hearted- 
ness  triumphed  again;  nothing  could  dampen  it  for 
long,  not  even  the  rain  which  was  pouring  down. 
My  eyes  travelled  to  Mr.  Boynton's  thick  boots  which 
he  had  bought  at  Barnston,  to  the  old  raincoat  Sir 
Mark  had  lent  him,  to  the  hat  pulled  low  down  to 
keep  the  water  from  his  neck,  to  the  deep  tan  of  his 
face  which  made  his  eyes  look  like  pale  gleaming 
stones,  and  again  I  laughed  in  peals  of  sheer  enjoy- 
ment. 

"What's  amusing  you?" 

"  You !  No  one  would  recognise  the  immaculate 
Mr.  Boynton  in  this  disreputable  figure  which  is  walk- 
ing by  my  side." 

"  I'm  mighty  comfortable,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  he 
said  with  a  grin. 

Martha  was  at  the  washtub  when  we  arrived. 
"Hush!"  I  whispered,  "don't  make  a  sound  and 
watch !  "  Creeping  up  on  tiptoe  I  put  my  hands  over 
[62] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


her  eyes.  Her  strong  lips  parted  in  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment. "  Why,  it's  Miss  Margaret !  "  she  said,  and  with 
her  hands  wet  from  the  white  suds  she  caught  my 
fingers.  I  gave  a  little  shriek  of  feigned  dismay  and 
Mr.  Boynton's  laugh  rang  out — "  Now  you're  paid 
back  "  he  said. 

I  saw  a  surprised  look  on  Martha's  face,  and  drag- 
ging my  hands  away  she  turned  quickly  and  looked 
from  one  laughing  face  to  the  other. 

"  Martha,  this  is  Mr.  Boynton,  I've  told  him  all 
about  you,  he's  a  friend  of  Sir  Mark's." 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  answered  in  her  grave  dignified 
voice,  "  a  friend  of  Sir  Mark  Haselton's  is  very  wel- 
come. Won't  you  sit  down?"  But  to  my  ears  so 
well  accustomed  to  the  shades  of  her  voice,  there  was 
something  confusing  which  made  me  wish  I  had  left 
the  childish  game  alone.  As  Sir  Mark  came  in  I  saw 
once  more  that  rapid  searching  glance  pass  from  one  to 
another;  what  was  she  thinking?  Was  it  the  thought 
that  involuntarily  floated  through  my  mind,  that  I 
wouldn't  have  played  that  joke  if  Sir  Mark  had  been 
there  instead  of  the  younger  man  ? 


[63] 


Chapter  Four 

THERE  came  a  day  when  Sir  Mark's  duties  called 
him  away  from  Sunnydale  and  as  Lady  Haselton 
was  getting  rather  too  old  to  entertain  a  visitor, 
Mother,  with  marked  graciousness,  asked  Mr.  Boyn- 
ton  to  be  our  guest.  After  we  had  waved  an  early 
good-bye  to  Sir  Mark  who  was  going  to  a  meeting  of 
the  Governors  of  the  hospital  the  other  side  of  Barn- 
ston,  I  was  conscious  of  an  unusual  amount  of  delight 
in  being  alive,  which  made  me  turn  gaily  to  Mr. 
Boynton  and  suggest  that  he  might  like  to  beat  me  at 
a  set  of  tennis. 

"  Aw  no,  let's  go  to  the  hill-top  instead !  " 

"  You  like  that,  too,"  I  said  eagerly,  "  I  love  it, 
it's  my  favourite  place,  that  and  the  Mere,  but  I  only 
go  to  the  Mere  when  I'm  unhappy."  I  smiled  as  I 
said  it;  the  sun  was  shining,  the  green  of  the  trees 
fading  into  their  autumn  tints,  and  there  was  just  a 
hint  of  frost  in  the  bracing  air.  My  eyes  were  danc- 
ing, my  body  full  of  life;  on  this  perfect  day  it  seemed 
absurd  that  I  could  ever  have  been  unhappy. 

"  But  why  are  you  unhappy  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  now,  but  I  used  to  be  lonely  and — you'll 
laugh  at  me — but  no  one  seemed  to  want  me,  that  is, 
no  one  who  really  counted ! " 

[64] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


"  I  can't  understand  that ! "  His  face  was  quite 
grave,  but  was  there  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  ? 

"Is  that  meant  for  a  compliment?"  I  asked — yes, 
his  eyes  were  twinkling. 

"  I  wondered  if  you'd  get  it,"  he  answered  and 
we  laughed  together,  our  voices  ringing  out  in  youth 
and  happiness  and  camaraderie.  We  were  resting  on  a 
fallen  log,  halfway  up  the  hill-side,  and  unconsciously 
as  our  amusement  died  away,  some  instinctive  sym- 
pathy which  I  sensed  in  him  made  me  tell  him  about 
Tom,  and  my  mother,  and  my  love  for  Meadowmere. 
His  sympathetic,  "  Poor  kid ! "  brought  the  colour  to 
my  cheeks,  as  I  realised  that  I  had  been  pouring 
forth  my  intimate  affairs  to  one  who  was  almost — a 
stranger;  even  to  Sir  Mark  I  had  never  said  so  much, 
and  with  the  consciousness,  my  voice  changed  and  in  a 
colder,  haughtier  tone,  I  said, 

"I  am  sorry  I  have  burdened  you  with  so  much 
family  gossip,  you  are  too  sympathetic." 

He  laughed  again,  but  somehow  I  did  not  mind,  for 
it  was  soft  and  low — "  How  different  you  are !  "  he 
said. 

"Different,  from  what?" 

"  From  any  girl  I  have  ever  known.  One  moment 
there  is  a  young  and  eager  child,  and  in  another  a  cold 
and  haughty  little  woman  has  taken  her  place.  You 

are  always  changing,  you  are "  He  hesitated,  the 

usual  confident  look  shadowed  by  one  which  was  soft 
and — and  almost —  Overwhelmed  by  a  sudden  shy- 
ness I  jumped  up  saying  lightly, 

[65] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  I'll  race  you  to  the  hill-top !  " 

Of  course  he  got  there  first.  When  I  reached  the 
top  he  was  standing,  flushed  with  the  exertion,  his 
face  turned  eagerly  to  the  far-distant  hills.  He  looked 
as  though  he  were  waiting  for  something,  his  youth 
seemed  poised  for  battle. 

"  You  look  as  though  the  world  was  before  you  and 
you  were  waiting  to  conquer  it,"  I  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"That's  how  I  feel.  I  want  to  get  at  grips  with 
things.  I  want  to  do  deeds,  to  carve  my  way,  to 
make  a  name  for  myself!"  His  face  glowed,  he 
looked  very  capable  of  keeping  his  word.  "  That's 
why  I  couldn't  live  here.  It  seems  to  me  you  don't 
know  what  Life  is  in  this  little  village,  you  sleep 
peacefully  through  all  your  days.  It  is  beautiful,  but 
outside  there  is  the  world,  with  a  niche  for  every  man 
if  he's  strong  enough  to  carve  it.  Don't  you  think 
there  is  glory  in  the  thought  of  being  strong  enough?  " 

How  was  it  that  this  time  his  words,  slurring  the 
peace  of  my  home,  brought  no  resentment?  Was  it 
that  unconsciously  for  days  I  had  been  realising 
something  of  a  broader  life,  fuller,  more  vigorous; 
not  more  happy,  but  more  in  the  limelight,  less  shel- 
tered from  the  world.  Hitherto  I  had  thought  that 
the  only  life  worth  living  was  that  we  lived  at  Sunny- 
dale  ;  I  still  thought  so — and  yet !  Was  it  that  some  of 
the  vitality  and  restlessness  of  his  outlook  had  been 
spreading  its  tentacles  towards  me? 

"  But  supposing "  I  said,  "  one's  niche  was  here  at 
[66] 


The  Coining  of  the  American 


Sunnydale?  Supposing  one's  honour  were  bound  up 
in  staying  in  it  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  do  it!"  he  answered  almost  violently, 
"  perhaps  if  I  had  always  lived  here,  I  might  feel 
differently,  but  feeling  as  I  do,  I  should  have  to  break 
away." 

"Even  if  you  broke  your  word?"  I  whispered. 

"  Yes,  even  at  that  cost.  One  must  grow.  Sup- 
posing I  had  promised  something  which  later  experi- 
ence told  me  I  could  not  perform  without  stunting  the 
s'if  which  had  grown  in  the  meantime,  the  sensible 
thing  would  be  to  go  to  the  other  fellow  and  say, 
'  Listen,  old  man.  I  want  you  to  release  me  from  my 
promise ! '  and  explain  why.  If  he  were  sensible  too, 
he  would  say  '  All  right,  go  ahead ! ' ' 

"  Suppose  he  were  not  sensible  ?  " 

"Then  I'd  tell  him  to  go  to — I'd  tell  him  I  was 
through  anyway." 

"  But  supposing  it  were  a  duty  you  owed,  say  to 
your  father  to  stay?  " 

"  I  can't  see  that  it  would  be  a  duty.  He  had  a 
right  to  his  choice,  I  should  have  a  right  to  mine. 
If  by  staying  I  were  forced  to  be  artificial,  if  it  would 
tie  me  to  something  which  would  stunt  me,  better  a 
sudden  hurt,  a  sudden  break,  than  the  life-long  feeling 
of  injury  and  resentment  I  should  otherwise  have." 

Words  were  hammering  at  the  back  of  my  brain; 
some  power  forced  them  from  my  lips — "  Supposing  " 
I  whispered,  not  daring  to  look  up,  "  you  had  prom- 
ised to  marry  a  girl  and  you  found  out  afterwards 

[67] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


that  you  did  not  love  her  well  enough,  wouldn't  honour 
make  you  keep  your  word?"  I  waited  breathlessly. 

"  Honour !  "  he  cried  impatiently,  "  do  you  imagine 
it  would  be  more  honourable  to  marry  a  woman  I  did 
not  love  instead  of  facing  the  truth  like  a  sensible 
man  and  woman?" 

My  heart  jumped  as  if  I  had  been  struck.  The 
colour  flooded  my  face  and  with  a  sudden  intolerable 
anger,  I  turned  quickly  and  hurried  down  the  path. 
How  dare  he  say  such  things  ? 

In  a  moment  I  heard  quick  footsteps  and  a  deter- 
mined figure  wheeled  and  planted  itself  on  the  path 
before  me.  There  was  a  glint  of  whimsical  humour  in 
his  eyes,  and — "  Don't  send  me  packing  into  outer 
darkness  without  telling  me  what  I've  done  to  deserve 
it!"  he  said. 

"I  don't  wish  to  continue  the  argument;  our  ideas 
are  as  far  apart  as  the  poles,"  I  answered  haughtily. 

"  That's  too  bad,  just  as  I  was  trying  to  learn !  " 
then  in  a  serious  tone,  "  I'm  sorry  if  I  hurt  your  feel- 
ings, I  thought  it  was  just  an  impersonal  argument." 

«  It  was— I " 

"  I'd  hate  to  hurt  you  worse  than  anything "  he 
said  softly,  and  at  the  new  note  of  apology  my  mo- 
mentary anger  vanished  and  a  strange  feeling  of 
confusion  took  its  place.  To  get  away  from  it,  I 
said  lightly, 

"  You  don't  always  carry  out  your  horrid  creed, 
do  you  ?  " 

His  free  boyish  laugh  rang  out — "  Now  I  suppose 
[68] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


you  think  you've  made  a  hit !  "  and  confusion,  anger, 
every  other  feeling  melted  into  a  mood  of  young 
gaiety,  as  running  down  the  slope,  we  made  a  raid  on 
the  orchard  and  fed  ourselves  with  anything  we  could 
find  that  was  good  to  eat. 

Sir  Mark  came  back  in  time  for  dinner.  As  I  saw 
his  grave  gentle  face,  I  realised  how  happy  I  had  been 
all  day.  It  was  a  strange  disturbing  active  happi- 
ness, it  was  different  from  the  quiet  content  which  Sir 
Mark  gave  me;  the  thought  that  I  was  capable  of 
making  such  a  contrast  filled  me  with  foreboding. 

That  night  in  the  silence  of  my  room,  I  could  not 
help  thinking  of  Mr.  Boynton's  look.  It  had  seemed 
al — almost — tender,  it  had  thrilled  me  with  a  strange 
exciting  confusion — I  caught  sight  of  my  white  figure 
in  the  long  glass;  the  moon  was  shining  and  in  its 
light  I  could  see  my  glowing  eyes,  full  of  youth  and 
dreams — waiting,  waiting.  It  almost  seemed  as 
though  I  heard  a  low  voice  calling  to  me  and  standing 
tensely,  I  waited,  watching,  dreaming.  ...  A  youth- 
ful figure  comes  in  at  my  window,  and  as  it  raises 
its  head,  slowly  the  dim  features  grow  clear  until  I 
look  into  the  pale  eager  eyes  of  the  American,  and 
in  them  is  something  which  makes  me  tremble  and 
afraid  and  which  yet  draws  me  to  his  arms  that  I 
must  go  to  him.  .  .  . 

Movement  broke  the  spell  and  acutely  conscious  of 
a  feeling  of  shame  and  guilt,  I  flung  myself  on  my 
bed  and  buried  my  burning  cheeks  in  the  pillow. 

Even  when  I  awoke  again  the  memory  of  that 

[69] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


waking  dream  was  vivid  enough  to  make  me  deter- 
mine to  avoid  Mr.  Boynton.  Self -consciousness  made 
me  greet  him  coldly  as  we  started  for  a  picnic  which 
had  been  arranged  to  a  beautiful  wood  the  other  side 
of  Barnston.  Sir  Mark  and  Mr.  Boynton,  the  doc- 
tor's wife,  Mother  and  I,  and  several  other  young 
people  were  driving  over  in  the  morning,  Father  and 
the  doctor  coming  on  in  time  for  tea.  I  kept  rigidly 
by  Sir  Mark's  side  and  as  I  was  driving  with  him  in 
his  dog-cart,  heading  the  procession  of  vehicles  which 
followed  behind,  he  looked  down  at  me  for  a  moment 
and  the  love  in  his  eyes  was  so  true  that  with  quick 
contrition  I  determined  to  make  up  to  him,  even  for 
a  dream.  He  was  so  good  to  me.  I  did  love  him. 
I  would  be  very  good  to  him,  and  make  him  happy. 

We  were  putting  out  the  things  for  tea,  when  the 
two  late  arrivals  drove  up,  and  in  the  momentary 
confusion  of  greeting  them,  I  found  Mr.  Boynton 
just  behind  me. 

"  What  have  I  done  ? "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 
"  You  have  scarcely  spoken  to  me  to-day." 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  I  answered  in  a  casual  tone,  "  but  of 
course  Sir  Mark  is  here."  He  flushed  and  immedi- 
ately I  would  have  given  worlds  to  recall  the  words; 
it  was  a  horrid  thing  to  say  to  a  guest,  and  besides, 
what  I  had  implied  was  not  true.  But  all  day  I  had 
been  conscious  of  something  which  hurt  me,  some- 
thing which  drove  me  to  a  wish  to  hurt  him  too.  Then 
as  I  saw  that  I  had  succeeded,  I  was  seized  with  an 
immediate  counter  desire  t  o  make  amends.  "  I'm 

[70] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


sorry,  I  didn't  mean  it,"  I  stammered,  "  I  just  felt 
cross.  Will  you  walk  to  Barnston  with  me,  it's  only 
a  little  way,  and  I  would  like  you  to  see  Nancy,  she's 
the  beauty  of  our  village?  " 

As  he  assented,  I  remembered  my  determination 
to  be  specially  attentive  to  Sir  Mark,  and  after  hastily 
asking  him  to  come  with  us,  I  did  not  know  whether 
I  was  glad  or  sorry  when  he  agreed. 

Nancy  was  stitching  at  the  crown  of  a  hat  when  we 
arrived  at  the  little  shop.  I  had  not  seen  her  for  quite 
a  time  and  she  looked  so  pale  that  I  was  shocked  and 
disappointed.  "  Why,  Nancy,  what  have  you  done 
with  your  lovely  colour?  " 

She  flushed  and  in  the  excitement  of  the  introduc- 
tions, she  seemed  like  her  old  self  again.  Mr.  Boyn- 
ton  chatted  with  her  in  his  friendly  manner  while  Sir 
Mark  and  I  talked  to  Mrs.  Wilkes,  he  in  his  gentle 
courteous  way,  I  in  a  desultory  fashion,  with  my 
mind  chiefly  on  the  thing  I  had  said — why  had  I 
wished  to  make  him  suffer?  While  we  were  walking 
back,  this  thought  was  -still  bothering  me,  and  I  did 
not  listen  very  carefully  to  Mr.  Boynton's  eulogies 
on  Nancy's  wonderful  colouring,  nor  wonder  very 
much  why  she  had  been  so  pale  and  tired. 

As  we  stood  in  the  yard  of  the  old  inn,  where  the 
horses  had  been  put  up,  waiting  until  the  carriages 
were  ready  to  take  us  home,  the  sun  was  setting  over 
the  trees.  Smoke  curled  out  of  the  chimney  of  the 
house,  losing  itself  slowly  in  the  soft  evening  twi- 
light, and  on  a  seat  in  the  porch,  almost  hidden  by 

[71] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


the  trailing  creeper,  the  inn-keeper's  two  children  were 
playing  with  three  tiny  kittens,  the  mother-cat  watch- 
ing anxiously  from  the  ground  so  that  her  children 
came  to  no  harm.  Mr.  Boynton  and  I  were  leaning 
against  the  side  of  a  water  trough,  watching  the 
laughing  group  who  were  hindering  rather  than  help- 
ing the  old  ostler  to  harness  the  horses.  I  turned  to 
make  a  gay  remark  to  my  companion  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  serious  he  looked. 

"  It's  a  wonderful  place.  You  can't  believe  what  a 
bully  good  time  I  am  having  here." 

"You're  not  finding  it  too  quiet?"  I  asked  shyly, 
wondering  why  his  words  made  me  so  happy. 

"  No  "  he  answered  slowly.  "  There's  something 
in  the  air  which  gets  hold  of  one.  I  guess  if  I  stayed 
here  much  longer,  I  might  almost  be  tempted  to 
'stagnate '  as  I  so  scornfully  called  it.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  there's  something,  the  sense  of  home  and 
family  life  perhaps,  which  grips  the  heart.  It  is  full 
of  peace  and  contentment,  but  I  begin  to  realise  it  is 
the  contentment  of  living,  not  of  stagnating.  Some- 
how I'm  not  in  quite  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  grips  with 
the  world.  I  have  been  very  happy !  " 

"  Thank  you  for  that  admission,"  I  said  quietly, 
though  my  heart  was  racing.  He  had  been  very 
happy ! 

"  Only  a  week  now,  and  then  I'll  have  to  beat  it  to 
my  conquest  of  the  world "  he  said,  half  smiling. 
"  I've  already  stayed  a  terrible  long  time,  but  Sir  Mark 
was  so  pressing  and  of  course  I  didn't  want  to  go." 

[72] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


Only  a  week!  Immediately  my  happiness  fell 
away;  there  remained  only  the  restlessness  which  lately 
had  crept  across  my  usual  contentment. 

The  days  flew.  Everyone  seemed  to  want  to  give 
a  farewell  party  to  the  boy  who  had  won  their  liking — 
"  Makes  me  feel  like  a  darned  Sultan  taking  leave  of 
his  subjects,"  he  said  grinning. 

Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday  passed 
and  it  was  the  evening  before  the  day  on  which  we 
were  to  have  our  last  picnic.  Last — the  thought  of 
finality  came  as  a  blow.  I  had  been  so  happy,  I  had 
not  thought  about  the  future.  How  quiet  and  lonely 
it  would  seem  without  him.  On  Saturday  he  would 
be  gone;  and  suddenly  after  that  everything  became 
grey  and  lifeless. 

But  when  Friday  morning  came  with  sunshine  and 
warmth,  I  cast  away  all  thought,  I  would  enjoy  every 
minute  of  this  day — why  even  Mother  Nature  in- 
tended that  we  should  be  happy !  And  happy  we  were ; 
everybody  was  laughing  and  talking  a  great  deal,  even 
Sir  Mark  responding  to  my  gay  teasing  mood  with 
an  unusually  humorous  look  in  his  kind  blue  eyes. 
Once  as  I  was  near  him,  and  we  were  a  little  away 
from  the  others,  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Margaret,  you  look  beautiful  to-day,  with  your 
sparkling  eyes  and  cheeks  full  of  colour,  like  a  deep 
dark  red  rose,  glowing  with  life — and  love." 

And  I  was  frightened  and  a  little  ashamed;  was  I 
glowing  with  love  for  him,  for  this  quiet  dignified 
man  with  the  gentle  manner? 

[73] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


The  hampers  were  opened  at  the  bottom  of  a  gentle 
slope,  shaded  from  the  sun  by  the  great  trees,  not  far 
away  from  where  a  brook  bubbled  over  its  stony 
course.  Everyone  had  some  duty,  one  to  lay  the 
cloth,  another  to  gather  sticks  for  the  fire — "  I'll  go  to 
the  farm  for  water  and  milk,"  sang  out  Mr.  Boynton, 
"  come  along  and  help  me,  Miss  Miller,  won't  you?  " 

We  went  away  laughing,  but  out  of  the  sound  of 
the  other  voices,  self-consciousness  settled  over  us. 
Our  way  lay  along  a  path  through  the  trees;  the  sandy 
soil,  washed  clear  by  the  rain,  was  a  beautiful,  soft, 
warm  red-yellow.  All  around  us  the  dark  trunks  of 
the  trees  seemed  to  shut  us  in,  the  deep  autumn- 
tinted  foliage  making  a  screen  around  us,  so  that  it 
might  have  been  that  we  were  in  a  world  alone.  For 
a  time  we  walked  on  in  the  silence,  then  he  said  in 
a  low  voice, 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  never  forget 
Sunnydale — and  the  people  here — and  you.  Perhaps 
some  day  you'll  have  me  for  another  vacation,  will 
you?" 

"  Perhaps ! "  I  began  gaily,  trying  to  hide  the  trem- 
bling on  my  lips  and  running  on  into  other  words 
in  an  effort  to  recover — "  and  then  I  will  be  your 
hostess ! " 

Even  as  the  words  left  my  lips,  fear  came  over 
me — then — 7  should  be  married  to  Sir  Mark!  At  the 
thought,  my  heart  seemed  to  stop,  and  I  put  out  my 
hands  vaguely,  gropingly  to  try  and  steady  myself  till 
the  darkness  should  have  passed. 

[74] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


In  the  world  which  was  whirling  around  me,  I 
heard  a  voice,  a  long  way  off,  saying,  "  Margaret, 
what  is  the  matter?"  My  hands  were  grasped  by 
strong,  living,  vital  hands — and  then  I  was  in  his 
arms,  he  was  kissing  my  hair,  my  eyes,  my  mouth, 
while  the  blood  surged  back  to  my  head  in  dizzying 
leaps.  I  was  happy,  happy  with  the  deep  almost  terri- 
ble happiness  I  had  dreamed  about.  This  was  the  love 
which  would  sweep  me  away,  which  would  leave  no 
room  for  approval,  for  formality — this  was  the  love 
in  which  youth  cried  to  youth,  leaving  middle  age  in 
the  background. 

Middle  age — Sir  Mark!  Thought  returned,  and 
with  a  feeling  of  shame,  I  pushed  Mr.  Boynton's  arms 
away,  and  looked  at  this  new  figure  which  in  a  second 
had  changed  into  someone  so  vital,  so  overpowering, 
so  intimate.  Breathlessly,  with  arms  outstretched  to 
keep  away  this  force  while  I  tried  to  think,  I  whis- 
pered, 

"We  forget — Lam — engaged — " 

"  I  forget  nothing,  but  I  love  you — you  love  me,  I 
know  it,  I  know  it !  "  His  low  confident  voice  thrilled 
through  me,  he  did  not  even  need  to  ask  me  if  I 
loved  him,  he  knew. 

"  But  Mark,  I  can't  hurt  him,"  and  as  his  gentle  face 
came  before  me,  I  felt  more  ashamed,  more  remorse- 
ful. "  Oh,  how  dishonourable  of  me  to  let  you  kiss 
me." 

"  You  didn't  let  me — we  couldn't  help  it.  Listen, 
Margaret,"  he  said  very  solemnly,  "  days  ago  I  was 

[75] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


afraid  of  the  feeling  I  was  beginning  to  have  for  you, 
but  I  held  it  in  check,  because  I  have  always  deter- 
mined not  to  marry  for  years  and  years  till  I  had 
gotten  my  career  well  started,  so — " 

"  Wasn't  it  partly  because  of  honour  to  Sir  Mark?  " 
I  interrupted,  wishing  to  hear  him  confirm  what  I 
believed,  that  his  feelings  were  always  finer  than  his 
egotistical  creed  would  admit. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  answered  a  little  shyly,  "  but  now — 
now  I  have  won  you,  I'm  going  to  keep  you." 

"  But  I'm  engaged  to  Sir  Mark.  He  has  trusted  us, 
he  believed  so  implicitly  in  me  that  he  never  thought 
of  being  jealous — oh,  how  deceitful  I  feel." 

"  I  hate  it  to  have  happened  while  I  am  his  guest, 
but  now  that  it  has,  it's  too  late  to  mend  it." 

"  No,  it  isn't,  we  didn't  know,  but  now  I  can  at  least 
keep  my  word  to  him.  I  couldn't  break  it,  it  would 
be  so  dishonourable." 

"  Would  it  be  more  honourable  to  marry  him  when 
you  love  me?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  desperately,  "  I  will  make  up 
to  him,  I  will  be  very  good  to  him.  I  can't  hurt  him, 
you  don't  know  how  terrible  it  is  to  hurt  as  this  would 
hurt  him.  I  know  what  it  means." 

"  Make  up  to  him !  "  His  voice  was  slightly  iron- 
ical, as  he  hardened  under  my  opposition.  "  As  if 
a  man  wants  that!  If  he  can't  have  a  woman's  love, 
as  if  he  would  want  her  pity.  You  must  face  it, 
Margaret.  I  have  won  you  and  I'm  going  to  keep 
you." 

[76] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


I  looked  at  his  determined  face.  He  was  so  young 
and  yet  so  certain  of  himself;  nothing  must  stand  in 
the  way  of  his  will. 

"  There  would  be  such  scandal  and  publicity.  I 
don't  think  I  could  bear  to  hurt  him  so  much." 

"  Well,  you  won't  be  here  to  see  his  suffering,  and 
you'll  soon  forget  all  that  has  gone  in  a  new  life  in 
America — with  me." 

A  new  life  with  him — away  from  Sunnydale,  in 
a  far-off  country!  Until  that  moment  I  had  only 
thought  of  Sir  Mark,  and  of  my  promise  to  him.  Now 
the  whole  of  my  life  came  before  me  with  tremendous 
strength.  Every  minute  since  I  had  been  born,  the 
love  of  my  home  and  all  that  surrounded  it  had  been 
steadily  growing  until  it  seemed  a  part  of  me;  my  en- 
gagement to  Sir  Mark  was  the  culmination.  Just 
for  a  moment  all  that  had  gone  before  was  stronger 
than  this  new  powerful  love,  just  for  a  moment  loyalty 
to  Sir  Mark  and  all  that  he  represented  made  it 
necessary  that  I  should  fight  on  his  side,  against 
this  new  strength  which  had  undermined  our 
old  life,  that  I  must  defy  it  as  if  it  were  an 
enemy. 

"  I  can't  go  with  you,"  I  said  breathlessly,  "  I  can't 
leave  Sunnydale." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  puzzled  surprise.  "  Do 
you  mean  that  your  home  and  your  life  here  mean 
more  than  I  do  ?  " 

How  could  I  explain  to  him  the  power  of  all  the 
forces  which  had  had  me  in  their  grasp  for  nineteen 

[77] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


years?  "  No,  no,"  I  said  miserably,  "but  I  can't  hurt 
Sir  Mark,  I  can't  leave  Sunnydale." 

He  flung  away  from  me  in  hurt  pride.  "I  am 
sorry  I  did  not  understand  more  quickly.  I  thought 
you  loved  me,  that  it  was  only  a  sense  of  duty  which 
made  you  hesitate.  I  had  forgotten  that  you  would 
be  Lady  Haselton!"  He  laughed  shortly.  "You 
have  made  it  quite  clear,  I  won't  bother  you  any 
more.  I  will  leave  you  to  Sunnydale  and  Sir  Mark 
Haselton,  and  I  hope  they  may  make  you  happy. 
Good-bye!"  He  turned  away  quickly,  walking  on 
towards  the  farm. 

I  felt  stunned;  not  angry  at  his  taunt,  scarcely  sad, 
only  stupid.  The  wonderful  love  of  which  I  had 
dreamed  had  come  so  suddenly — now  it  had  gone 
again.  In  a  dream  I  made  my  way  back  to  the 
others,  pleading  a  headache  as  my  reason  for  not 
going  all  the  way  to  the  farm. 

As  the  day  lengthened,  and  my  brain  cleared, 
misery  began  to  grow.  Yet  he  could  laugh,  he  could 
be  merry  and  witty  and  entertaining,  I  saw  in  hurt 
surprise.  He  couldn't  do  it  if  he  really  cared,  if  he 
felt  as  I  did.  And  pride  came,  stifling  the  growing 
fear  of  the  time  when  he  should  have  gone,  building 
up  anger  at  his  taunt.  How  dared  he  suggest  that  I 
would  not  go  with  him  because  of  the  material  posi- 
tion I  should  lose ! 

And  next  day  we  parted  almost  as  strangers  while  in 
my  heart  pride  fought  with  misery  as  I  heard  his  cool 
friendly  "Good-bye!" — after  those  moments  in  the 

[78] 


The  Coming  of  the  American 


wood!  Well,  I  would  forget  him.  Soon  he  would 
be  gone,  this  stranger  in  our  midst,  and  after  that  life 
would  go  on  again  in  the  same  old  way. 

But  as  he  drove  away  I  caught  hie  momentary  look. 
His  eyes  were  hurt  and  they  took  me  back  to  the  short 
time  when  there  had  only  been  us  in  the  world;  for 
a  moment  they  excluded  the  group  around.  It  was 
our  only  good-bye,  but  it  dissolved  the  pride  which 
had  held  my  misery  in  check.  So  he  did  care,  I  knew 
it  from  his  eyes;  that  easy  manner  had  been  just  a 
mask.  Oh,  why  hadn't  he  waited?  Why  couldn't 
he  have  realised  that  it  was  not  easy  to  throw  off  the 
feelings  and  habits  of  all  the  years  before,  just  in  a 
minute  ? 

The  door  of  the  car  was  shut.  He  had  gone  and 
I  should  never  see  him  again.  How  could  I  go  on 
living  the  old  life? 


[79] 


BOOK  THREE:  MARRIAGE 


BOOK  THREE:  MARRIAGE 
Chapter  One 


I  HAD  sent  him  away,  I  had  chosen  duty  and 
peace  in  the  place  I  loved,  and  in  the  midst  of 
people  I  had  always  known,  rather  than  love  and  life 
in  a  new  world!  And  instead  of  peace,  instead  of 
the  old  contentment  in  my  beautiful  home  and  the 
things  around  it,  there  was  struggle — a  never-ending 
struggle  to  settle  down  to  life  as  it  had  been,  to  look 
forward  with  the  same  tranquillity  to  my  approaching 
marriage. 

After  Mr.  Boynton  had  really  gone,  after  I  had 
seen  the  carriage  disappear  through  the  gates  and 
into  the  winding  road  beyond,  putting  an  end  to  my 
mad  desire  to  dash  after  it  and  call  him  back — when 
there  was  nothing  except  poignant  memories  to  show 
that  he  had  been  with  us,  I  knew  the  meaning  of 
terror,  of  sheer  desolate  terror  at  the  thought  of  the 
blackness  of  the  future.  In  my  room  that  night  I 
faced  life  without  love.  Nineteen!  And  long,  long 
years  before  me  and  in  them — nothing.  Nothing 
which  I  wanted,  nothing  of  the  man  for  whom  I 
longed  with  my  whole  being. 

As  I  gradually  realised  the  strength  of  the  love 

[83] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


which  had  come,  honour,  Meadowmere,  Sunnydale, 
everything  else  faded  into  nothingness.  If  he  could 
only  have  come  again!  Even  when  pride  began  to 
raise  its  head  saying,  "  How  weak  is  this  shilly- 
shallying. You  have  made  your  choice,  it  is  too  late 
to  change;  be  a  woman  and  put  this  love  out  of 
your  life!"  my  heart  answered,  "but  it  can't  be  put 
out  of  my  thoughts,  even  if  I  gather  together  all  the 
forces  which  have  hitherto  ruled  my  life  to  fight 
against  its  strength." 

In  the  background  of  the  struggle,  making  me  yet 
unhappier,  was  remorse.  I  was  untrue  to  Sir  Mark; 
not  only  untrue  but  ungenerous  in  continually  con- 
trasting the  old  love  with  the  new.  Although  I  was 
keeping  my  word,  was  there  any  spirit  in  it?  How 
could  there  be  when  every  time  Mark  kissed  me  I 
thought  of  Mr.  Boynton,  and  my  heart  rebelled  against 
what  seemed  like  sacrilege?  If  Mark  had  been  cross 
and  overbearing,  things  might  have  been  easier  to 
bear,  but  his  kindness  and  consideration  were  an  addi- 
tional reproach  for  my  lack  of  response,  and  his 
gentle  kindly  ways  grew  to  be  an  irritation,  emphasised 
by  my  rebellious  longing  for  someone  else,  for  some- 
one who  was  not  gentle  and  kind,  who  was  strong 
and  intolerant. 

In  this  struggle  the  Mere  was  my  refuge.  There 
I  could  throw  off  the  guard  which  I  had  to  keep  for 
fear  Sir  Mark's  keen  eyes  would  notice  a  difference 
in  me.  There  was  no  one  to  see  me;  I  was  alone  with 
my  thoughts  and  its  solitude  was  very  welcome. 

[84] 


Marriage 

The  month  after  Mr.  Boynton  had  gone  was  the 
longest  I  had  ever  spent.  After  a  more  than  unusually 
difficult  day,  I  was  looking  into  the  deep  still  waters 
of  the  Mere,  which  suggested  such  a  sense  of  age- 
lessness, — thinking  that  when  I  had  gone,  they  would 
still  be  there,  that  perhaps  a  daughter  of  mine  would 
be  bringing  her  sorrows  there  for  consolation,  pray- 
ing that  she  might  never  have  to  make  such  a 
choice, — when  there  was  a  movement  in  the 
rushes. 

With  a  feeling  of  terror  I  held  my  breath.  Who 
could  it  be?  There  was  never  anyone  there  after 
dark,  but  as  a  figure  rose  out  of  them  I  was  relieved 
to  find  that  there  was  something  familiar  about  it — 
then  with  a  shock  I  saw  that  it  was  Nancy,  but  a 
Nancy  I  could  scarcely  recognise.  What  had  hap- 
pened ? 

"  Nancy ! "  I  called  softly,  "  Nancy,  don't  you  see 
me?" 

She  did  not  answer  and  began  to  creep  away.  With 
a  puzzled  awestruck  feeling  of  pity  at  the  change  in 
her  appearance,  I  hurried  after  her,  putting  my  arm 
around  her  shoulder.  She  stiffened  and  seemed  about 
to  draw  away,  then  her  body  relaxing,  she  burst  into 
violent  weeping. 

"  Go  away,  go  away ! "  she  sobbed. 

"But,  Nancy,  why?  What's  the  matter,  can't  I 
help  you  ?  "  And  then  as  she  leaned  against  me,  the 
sobs  shaking  her  body-^— 7  knew.  "  Nancy ! "  I 
whispered,  overwhelmed  by  the  knowledge,  filled  by 

[85] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


remorse  that  lately  I  had  given  no  thought  to  Martha 
or  Nancy.  I  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  tell  me  how  I  can  help  you?  " 

But  she  drew  up  and  a  set  stubborn  look  grew  in 
her  pale  face.  "  There's  nothing  to  tell,  and  no  one 
can  help!"  she  said  sullenly.  "  Please  go  away." 

"  I  can't  until  I  see  you  safely  home."  For  I  was 
frightened  by  a  further  terrible  thought — "  Nancy, 
you  weren't,  you  weren't " 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  I  was  going  to  do,"  she 
interrupted  wearily.  "  My  life  is  over  anyway." 

I  thought  of  the  day  when  I  had  seen  her  under  the 
roses,  dreams  in  her  eyes  and  all  her  life  before 
her.  And  that  was  such  a  little  time  ago.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  I  had  known  of  shame  and  sorrow 
in  connection  with  Motherhood;  hitherto  it  had  been 
so  beautiful  and  natural  to  me. 

As  we  went  into  the  cottage,  Martha  was  sitting 
by  the  window,  staring  into  the  darkness.  Old  John 
sat  near  her,  holding  a  newspaper  which  he  made  no 
attempt  to  read;  the  lamp  was  not  even  lit.  How 
they  had  both  altered !  I  went  to  Martha  and  put  my 
arms  around  her  neck  and  stroked  her  cheek.  What 
could  I  say  that  would  help  such  grief  as  hers? 

"  Martha,  take  care  of  her,"  I  whispered,  "  I — I 
am  afraid  for  her." 

She  looked  at  her  daughter  with  a  love  which  was 
outraged  and  shamed.  "  She  won't  say  who  it  is, 
but  if  I  ever  find  out " 

John's  eyes  glowed  in  unison  with  an  ugly  light. 
[86] 


Marriage 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  change  in  his  weather-beaten 
old  face  where  there  had  always  been  some  of  the 
peace  of  the  country  life  and  the  beauty  of  the  living 
growing  things  he  tended;  now  it  was  sullen  and 
brooding. 

And  I  understood  why  Nancy  had  kept  so  stub- 
bornly silent  about  her  lover's  name;  she  feared  the 
violence  which  these  despairing  parents  might  do. 
The  fierceness  of  their  love  which  had  turned  into 
bitterness  frightened  me,  haunting  me  for  days. 

In  the  effort  to  get  away  from  all  these  sad  thoughts, 
I  spent  more  and  more  time  in  the  village,  where  I 
would  casually  mention  Mr.  Boynton's  name  and  then 
eagerly  listen  for  the  word  of  quiet  praise  which 
often  followed.  Especially  did  I  like  to  sit  in  the 
cottage  of  the  smith,  for  it  seemed  that  when  I  nursed 
the  baby  which  he  had  held,  some  lingering  touch  of 
his  personality  came  to  me,  and  with  a  beating  heart 
I  would  listen  to  the  mother  as  she  talked  of  him. 
It  was  a  rather  unhappy  satisfaction,  like  seeing  the 
picture  of  a  well-loved  face  you  cannot  touch,  but  it 
was  all  I  had,  and  with  it  I  tried  to  fill  the  ache  in  my 
heart 


[87] 


Chapter  Two 


PEOPLE  say  that  if  we  could  foretell  the  future, 
it  would  be  a  gift  which  the  strongest  of  us 
might  shun.  And  yet  I  wonder  whether  it  would  not 
have  been  more  merciful  if  we  had  had  some  inkling 
of  the  awful  blow  which  was  to  befall  us.  If  out  of  a 
clear  blue  sky  a  thunderbolt  could  fall  and  mow  down 
a  family,  would  it  not  be  more  terrible  than  if  there 
had  been  signs  of  storm,  and  the  disaster  thus  antici- 
pated by  a  warning! 

I  was  dusting  Father's  study  one  morning  towards 
the  end  of  March,  arranging  the  papers  on  his  desk, 
— a  duty  of  which  I  was  rather  proud  as  I  was  the 
only  one  who  was  allowed  to  touch  them,  because  I 
did  not  '  get  them  in  a  muddle ' — when  a  motor 
whizzed  up  to  the  door  and  out  of  it  came  a  man 
with  a  small  attache  case.  I  recognised  him  as  the 
manager  of  the  bank  at  Barnston.  He  and  Father 
came  into  the  room  together.  A  large  screen  stood 
between  the  desk  and  the  door,  shielding  Father  from 
any  draught — there  always  was  a  draught  everywhere, 
according  to  him — and  for  the  moment  I  was  out  of 
sight.  I  was  just  going  to  make  my  presence  known 
when  the  man's  first  words  stopped  me. 
[88] 


Marriage 

"  I  want  to  show  you  this  check,  Mr.  Miller. 
Of  course  no  doubt  it  is  all  right,  but  you  know  we 
are  always  so  careful  about  our  clients'  affairs,"  and 
he  coughed  in  his  nervous  fussy  way — "  and  there  is 
just  a  slight  departure  from  your  usual  signature. 
It  is  made  out  to  Master  Tom,  and  no  doubt  is  all 
right,  but,  well,  as  I  say,  we " 

"  What  is  the  amount? "  Father  interrupted  shortly. 

"  Five  hundred  pounds." 

Five  hundred  pounds,  to  Tom !  Oh  God,  what  does 
it  mean? 

I  heard  my  father  say,  "Just  a  moment  and  I'll 
refer,"  before  he  came  behind  the  screen.  I  don't 
think  he  saw  me.  His  face  was  livid.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  leaning  against  the  desk,  supporting  his  body 
with  his  arms,  hidden  from  the  man  who  was  wait- 
ing. Then  he  shuffled  upright,  rubbed  his  cheeks  hard 
with  the  backs  of  his  knuckles,  and  with  his  head  up, 
he  went  out  into  the  room,  saying  in  a  voice  which 
sounded  like  his  ordinary  one, 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment. 
Just  a  little  present,  a  little  extra,  you  know."  And 
he  laughed.  Where  did  he  find  the  strength  to 
laugh  ? 

The  Bank  Manager  was  evidently  relieved.  "  That's 
all  right  then,  thought  I  had  just  better  call  it  to  your 
attention.  It's  better  to  be  safe  than  sorry ! "  and  he 
rambled  on  as  he  went  out. 

I  heard  a  door  slam.  I  waited  breathlessly.  Then 
footsteps  on  the  carpet  and  Father  came  towards  me. 

[89] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


His  eyes  were  burning  in  a  terrible  white  masque. 
He  seemed  to  look  through  me,  yet  in  a  quiet  voice, 
he  said,  "  Tell  your  mother  I  would  like  to  speak  to 
her  here." 

I  hurried  to  her  as  fast  as  my  trembling  body  would 
take  me.  There  was  something  menacing  in  that 
quiet  voice.  Almost  against  my  will,  I  followed  her 
into  the  room  and  shut  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  casual  tone. 

"  It's — it's "  He  stammered,  while  the  veins  in 

his  forehead  stood  out,  as  he  tried  to  keep  his  self- 
control.  Then  he  seemed  to  cast  it  from  him,  and  like 
a  lion  infuriated  by  a  mortal  wound,  he  burst  forth. 
His  rage  was  terrible,  aweing,  terrifying — all  the  more 
awful  because  of  the  contrast  to  his  usual  quietude. 
Among  the  storm  of  words  I  caught  a  few  coherent 
phrases — "Your  son  ...  a  rogue,  scoundrel  .  .  . 
forger.  Now  are  you  satisfied?" 

Although  she  whitened  under  the  storm,  her  self- 
control  was  perfect,  as  with  a  gesture  of  contempt  she 
went  up  to  him,  and  grasping  his  arm  said,  "  Tell  me 
what  has  happened  without  so  much  hysteria." 

I  saw  a  bitter  look  come  into  his  eyes,  then  with 
an  effort,  he  said  more  quietly, 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  you !  Your  son  has  forged  my 
name  to  a  check  for  five  hundred  pounds.  That  is 
what  has  happened,  that  is  where  your  indulgence  has 
brought  him.  Now  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

For  a  moment  I  thought  she  was  going  to  faint, 
then, 

[90] 


Marriage 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  said. 

"  Believe  it !  It's  only  too  true,  I  saw  the  proof 
myself." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  hands  went  out  seem- 
ing to  push  the  knowledge  from  her.  But  she  answered 
quietly, 

"  It's  only  a  small  amount,  he  shall  make  it  up  to 
you.  I  will  economise." 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand — it's  forgery!" 

The  ugly  word  pierced  her  self-control.  She  clung 
to  my  father's  arm  as  he  paced  the  room.  "  You  will 
forgive  him !  You  must  forgive  him !  He  will  make 
it  up,  he  must  have  been  tempted  too  much,  you  were 
too  harsh  to  him." 

"  He  has  been  tempted  once  too  often !  "  he  answered 
in  that  queer  high  voice.  "  I  can't  prosecute  him  be- 
cause of  the  good  name — my  good  name,  but  out  of 
England  he  shall  go,  and  he  shall  never  come  back, 

and "  He  hesitated,  then  in  a  firmer  tone  and  a 

lower  voice,  "  and  Meadowmere  shall  go  to  whom  it 
belongs !  " 

Meadowmere — to  whom  it  belongs!  .  .  .  Things 
were  happening  which  I  could  not  understand. 

"  It  shall  not !  "  my  mother  said  desperately,  "  you 
cannot  break  your  promise,  it  was  a  solemn  vow  to 
me,  you " 

"  I  shall  break  it.  It  ought  never  to  have  been  made, 
it  is  perhaps  the  cause  of  all  this.  Meadowmere  must 
go  to  the  rightful  heir." 

The  rightful  heir?    Emotion  overcame  my  shrink- 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


ing  fear  of  intruding  on  this  scene,  and  with  sudden 
courage  I  broke  out, 

"  Father,  what  do  you  mean  ?  You  must  tell  me, 
I  have  a  right  to  know ! " 

He  seemed  to  see  me  for  the  first  time.  "  Yes,  you 
have  a  right.  It  means  that  after  I  am  dead  Meadow- 
mere  will  belong  to  you." 

"Tome!    And  Tom?" 

"  Tom  is  not  my  son,  he  is  only  my  step-son." 

I  caught  a  gleam  of  sullen  rage  in  my  mother's 
eyes,  then  without  another  word  she  went  away. 

"  Father,  I  can't  understand  all  this.  Everything 
is  terrible — and  poor  Tom!" 

His  face  hardened.  "  I  have  no  sympathy  for  him. 
He  has  had  everything  and  this  is  how  he  rewards 
me." 

"  But  I  don't  understand,  why  did  you  let  Tom 
think  he  was  the  heir — why " 

"  He  was  to  be  the  heir."  And  then  in  a  low 
voice  he  made  the  amazing  thing  clear  to  me.  "  Tom 
is  the  son  of  your  mother's  first  husband,  who  had 
just  died  when  I  met  her,  leaving  this  baby  of  a  few 
months  old.  She  was  very  beautiful  and  I — I  had 
known  only  my  books  and  my  study.  I  fell  in  love 
with  her.  I  can't  tell  you  what  she  meant  to  me,  and 
I  was  swept  away,  ready  to  promise  anything  if  she 
would  marry  me.  She  made  me  promise  that  Tom 
should  be  the  heir  to  Meadowmere  and  the  estate,  un- 
less a  son  were  born.  I  had  just  enough  sense  of 
honour  to  hold  out  for  that,  but  I  thought  a  daughter 

[92] 


Marriage 

would  not  feel  the  loss,  she  would  probably  marry. 
So  I  promised.  It  was  wrong  of  me.  I  have  re- 
gretted bitterly." 

I  looked  at  my  quiet  father  in  utter  amazement,  as 
he  stammered  out  this  story.  He  had  always  seemed 
so  controlled,  so  contained,  and  yet  he  had  been  swept 
away,  had  been  ready  to  promise  anything.  How 
amazing  was  this  force,  this  emotion  which  burst  over 
people — over  Nancy,  my  father,  which  had  destroyed 
all  my  own  content  and  pleasure  in  my  home.  If  he 
had  stayed  a  little  longer  till  I  was  awake  to  the 
power  of  it,  would  it  not  have  swept  me  too  away  so 
that  I  would  have  gone  with  him  to  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth! 

'And  Meadowmere  belonged  to  me. 

It  was  the  thing  for  which  I  had  longed.  That  my 
beautiful  well-loved  home  might  belong  to  me  so  that 
I  might  never  have  to  leave  it.  Now  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  it  would  be  mine  was  shadowed  by  pity  for 
Tom,  and  sorrow  that  for  the  first  time  in  generations 
there  would  not  be  a  Squire  Miller,  only  a  woman  who 
would  one  day  be  Lady  Haselton,  and  thus  would  the 
long  line  of  Millers  be  broken.  Now  I  could  under- 
stand my  mother's  hatred  of  me;  as  soon  as  she  had 
known  there  was  to  be  a  child,  she  had  resented  it, 
fearing  that  a  son  might  oust  her  darling  Tom  from 
the  place  for  which  she  had  schemed — yes,  it  must 
have  been  that.  That  was  why  she  had  married,  for 
if  she  had  loved  my  father,  she  could  not  have  ex- 
tracted promises!  How  she  must  have  loved  Tom. 

[93] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


And  even  when  only  a  girl  had  been  born,  the  resent- 
ment had  continued,  increased  by  the  fact  that  a 
daughter  who  had  been  robbed  of  her  inheritance  was 
always  before  her  eyes.  That  was  why  she  was  re- 
lieved when  I  became  engaged.  How  clear  it  all  was, 
and  my  father — his  head  was  bowed  on  his  hands, 
then  for  a  moment  he  looked  up. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

It  hurt  that  this  being  whom  I  had  held  in  such 
awe  should  ask  me  for  forgiveness.  I  went  to  him 
and  kissed  him  and  stroked  his  cheek,  whispering, 
"  Of  course  I  do,"  and  then  I  left  him. 

Poor  Father,  how  little  I  had  known  him !  I  went 
to  my  seat  in  the  orchard,  but  there  were  many  changes 
since  that  spring  day  when  I  had  been  so  happy; 
there  were  no  blossoms  now,  it  was  drear  March  and 
a  cold  wind  was  blowing  through  the  leafless  trees. 
Poor,  poor  Tom !  What  folly  had  tempted  him  ?  He 
must  have  been  crazy,  otherwise  he  must  have  known 
that  discovery  was  inevitable. 

Nancy  and  Father  and  Tom!  I  looked  at  the  out- 
line of  my  home,  now  clear  through  the  empty  boughs 
and  realised  that  the  peace  and  happiness  I  had  had  in 
it  were  gone.  I  loved  it  still,  but  it  was  with  a  sad 
love,  full  of  knowledge  of  sin  and  suffering,  and  in 
the  background  lay  the  incessant  struggle  to  keep  my 
promise  to  Sir  Mark,  my  incessant  longing  for  him. 
"  Am  I  doing  right  in  trying  to  keep  my  promise  ? 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrong?  Everything  seems 
hopelessly  mixed  up,"  I  thought. 

[94] 


Marriage 

Then  my  thoughts  travelled  to  my  mother  and 
stopped.  She  had  been  so  proud,  so  sure,  so  brilliant 
and  handsome.  Now  her  world  had  toppled  over. 
Tom,  her  idol,  was  dethroned.  Everything  she  had 
built  up  and  planned  for  was  lost  and  Tom  was  to  be 
sent  away.  My  throat  contracted — oh,  my  poor,  poor 
mother!  How  she  would  be  suffering  and  with  the 
longing  to  try  and  comfort  her,  I  went  into  the  house, 
knocking  gently  at  her  door. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  It's  Margaret.  Let  me  come  in,  Mother,  I  want 
you." 

"  You  can't  come  in." 

The  quiet  cold  voice  fell  on  my  sympathy  like  an 
avalanche  on  some  poor  traveller.  Oh,  why  wouldn't 
she  take  me  to  her  heart?  I  wanted  to  show  her  that 
I  loved  her,  that  I  was  terribly  sorry  about  Tom,  that 
I  didn't  rejoice  at  getting  Meadowmere.  And  instead 
this  "  You  can't  come  in !  "  How  it  hurt ! 

In  my  longing  for  some  one  to  talk  to,  I  thought  of 
Martha.  She  knew  what  sorrow  was,  she  would 
understand  and  she  would  never  tell  any  one.  Since 
her  trouble  over  Nancy,  she  had  gone  less  and  less 
among  the  villagers,  from  whom  even  before  she  had 
always  held  a  little  aloof.  Now  the  thought  that  they 
could  look  down  upon  her  daughter  made  her  hold  her 
head  higher  and  her  face  had  become  stern  and  set, 
as  she  went  on  her  way  in  tortured  silence,  asking 
for  no  pity.  She  was  sitting  looking  out  of  the 
window  with  that  set  fixed  look,  her  usually  busy 

[95] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


hands  idle.  Was  I  right  to  burden  her  with  my 
troubles — yes,  perhaps  they  might  take  away  her  mind 
from  her  own. 

"  Martha,"  I  said,  coming  behind  her,  and  putting 
my  arms  around  her  neck.  "  Martha !  "  The  trouble 
in  my  voice  made  her  look  up  quickly. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  further  terrible  thing 
has  happened  ?  " 

"  We  are  in  great  trouble — Tom  has — "  I  could 
hardly  tell  the  shameful  thing,  "  he's — "  I  heard  a 
rustle.  "What  is  that?" 

"  It's  only  Nancy,  she's  lying  down.  What  about 
Master  Tom?" 

"  He  has — oh,  Martha,  he  has  forged  a  check !  " 

"  What!  "  she  shouted,  "  I  don't  believe  it,— Master 
Tom." 

"  It's  too  true,  and  now  he  is  to  be  sent  away  for 
ever — why  is  there  so  much  trouble?" 

There  was  a  cry  from  the  bedroom.  Martha  and  I 
hurried  in.  On  the  bed  like  a  thing  of  death  lay 
Nancy,  immovable,  hardly  seeming  to  breathe. 

I  ran  to  Meadowmere  with  all  my  might  and  tele- 
phoned for  the  doctor.  Later  that  night  Nancy's 
child  was  born. 


[96] 


Chapter  Three 


I  THINK  that  until  the  very  day  before  Tom  was 
to  sail  for  Australia,  Mother  thought  that  Father 
would  relent  and  give  him  another  chance.  She 
pleaded  so  hard  for  him  and  she  had  been  so  used  to 
having  her  own  way  that  this  new  adamantine  quality 
bewildered  her.  When  she  realised  that  his  decision 
was  firm  she  demanded  that  she  should  see  Tom 
before  he  went,  and  as  she  and  Father  set  out  for  their 
sad  journey  of  farewell,  her  face  was  set  into  a  cold 
hatred  for  she  was  thinking  only  of  the  boy  she 
worshipped,  without  any  pity  for  the  hurt  pride  of  the 
man  she  had  married.  I  wanted  to  go  with  them, 
to  tell  Tom  how  sorry  I  was,  to  ask  him  to  bear  me 
no  grudge  because  Meadowmere  was  coming  to  me, 
but  I  thought  that  he  would  not  want  to  see  me.  If 
I  were  in  his  place  I  should  not  want  to  see  any  one, 
so  I  only  sent  my  love  and  a  box  of  his  favourite 
cigarettes. 

But  when  Mother  came  back  from  London,  I  was 
shocked  at  the  change  in  her.  Her  self-control  had 
gone,  she  seemed  like  a  broken-hearted  woman.  With 
pity  I  put  my  arms  around  her.  This  time  she  did 
not  reject  me,  appeared  rather  to  need  me,  and  all  the 
hurt  I  had  suffered  faded  out  of  my  heart  in  the  new 

[97] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


gladness  that  I  could  be  of  use  to  her.  All  this  sorrow 
had  given  me  one  thing,  a  mother  whom  I  could 
love  and  nurse  and  comfort. 

So  poor  Tom  went  out  of  our  lives.  For  the  sake 
of  the  Miller  name  the  reason  for  his  going  was  kept 
a  secret,  and  it  was  merely  given  out  that  he  had  gone 
abroad  to  travel,  Father  trusting  that  time  would  efface 
his  memory  from  the  village,  so  that  when  the  day 
came  for  Meadowmere  to  belong  to  me,  he  should 
almost  be  forgotten.  Sir  Mark  was  the  only  one  who 
was  told  the  truth;  as  he  was  going  to  marry  me 
that  was  only  fair. 

But  in  the  meantime  our  wedding  was  postponed 
because  I  could  not  leave  Mother  and  it  was  too  sad 
a  time  for  marriages  and  merriment,  as  I  told  Sir 
Mark.  Nevertheless  I  was  conscious  of  duplicity  for 
deep  in  my  heart  there  was  an  enormous  relief  that 
the  wedding  had  to  be  put  off;  the  delay  took  one 
burden  away. 

I  often  wondered  whether  Mr.  Boynton  had  forgot- 
ten me  in  his  busy  life.  He  would  have  so  much  less 
time  for  thought  than  I.  Indeed  it  seemed  as  though 
I  only  lived  in  the  past,  that  my  body  went  on  doing 
things,  my  brain  directing  it,  but  immediately  the  need 
for  action  was  over,  back  went  my  thoughts  to  that 
happy  month.  How  much  I  realised  now  the  strength 
of  my  love!  If  I  had  known  then,  would  I  not  have 
deserted  my  home,  forgotten  my  promise,  everything 
— would  I  not  have  gone  away  to  a  far  country? 

As  time  went  by  some  of  my  mother's  old  spirit 

[98] 


Marriage 

came  back  to  her,  fostered  by  hopeful  letters  which 
began  to  come  from  Tom;  yet  did  she  not  reject  my 
companionship  and  I  was  very  glad.  Glad  too,  at 
the  change  which  the  dependence  on  his  own  resources 
seemed  gradually  to  make  in  Tom.  It  had  been  the 
saving  point;  he  wrote  in  a  more  manly  tone,  a  new 
confidence  in  himself  beginning  to  take  the  place  of 
the  old  easy  arrogant  spirit  which  considered  that  he 
could  do  no  wrong. 

Sir  Mark  was  very  patient,  very  gentle  and  kind; 
he  was  too  good  to  me.  I  wished  he  had  been  less 
thoughtful  and  unselfish.  I  wished  he  could  have 
been  more  assertive,  demanded  more.  Unconsciously 
I  was  always  contrasting  his  way  with  what  another 
would  have  done  in  the  same  circumstances — could  I 
imagine  him  waiting  patiently?  No,  he  would  have 
demanded,  and  just  because  I  was  a  woman,  I  would 
have  responded  to  his  impatience  and  his  will. 

Six  months  passed.  Even  Sir  Mark  began  to  sug- 
gest firmly  that  the  wedding  should  not  be  put  off 
any  further,  and  with  Mother's  complete  recovery  of 
her  former  composure,  I  could  no  longer  plead  that  she 
needed  me.  Finally  a  date  was  set — the  respite  was 
over! 

And  twelve  months  ago,  he  had  been  with  us.  We 
had  walked  and  talked  together.  He  had  told  me  he 
loved  me.  Where  was  he  now  ?  What  was  he  doing — 
did  he  still  care?  No,  he  couldn't,  or  he  would  have 
come  to  me  again.  Sometimes  I  felt  that  I  could  not 
go  on  with  the  engagement,  that  it  was  not  fair  to 

[99] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Sir  Mark,  but  when  I  had  given  up  so  much  to  keep 
my  promise,  I  could  not  bear  that  the  sacrifice  should 
be  quite  useless.  Perhaps,  too,  I  went  on  because  it 
needed  a  sudden  emotion  to  key  me  up  to  a  courageous 
deed,  because  all  my  life  I  had  thought  that  a  promise 
once  given  was  a  sacred  thing  to  be  carried  out  at  all 
costs,  and  because,  although  the  old  life  at  Meadow- 
mere  had  lost  so  much  of  its  peace,  I  hoped  to  find  con- 
tentment in  the  new  life,  which  would  have  so  many 
more  demands. 

One  of  my  chief  pleasures  was  to  visit  Nancy  and 
her  baby.  He  was  a  bonny,  healthy  little  thing  who 
twined  his  way  into  every  one's  heart  and  I  loved  him. 
There  had  been  a  battle  royal  between  my  mother  and 
me  before  I  was  allowed  to  go  to  the  cottage,  but  my 
passionate  pity  for  Nancy  and  my  love  for  the  tiny 
thing  which  I  had  held  on  the  night  when  it  was  born 
gave  me  courage  to  rebel  and  to  appeal  to  Father.  His 
quiet  "  Let  her  go,  Martha  is  there  and  Nancy  won't 
hurt  her.  You  seem  to  forget  that  we  cannot  throw 
stones !  "  showed  a  new  spirit  of  decision  and  made  my 
mother  flinch.  It  was  perhaps  cruel  of  him,  but  he 
suffered  so  in  the  perpetual  knowledge  of  the  secret 
disgrace  which  had  come  upon  his  family,  in  which 
his  pride  was  so  strong  an  inheritance. 

In  the  happiness  the  child  brought,  Nancy  gradually 
lost  most  of  her  bitterness.  How  could  sin  and  misery 
live  in  the  presence  of  the  fair-haired  laughing  baby? 
Even  Martha  and  John  were  peacefully  won  from 
their  desperation  and  the  little  household  seemed  to 
[100] 


Marriage 

find  content,  living  only  in  their  own  lives.  It  was 
different  from  the  old  content  because  it  had  come  out 
of  unhappiness,  but  it  was  healing  their  hearts. 

I  was  therefore  all  the  more  surprised  to  hear  the 
sound  of  weeping  as  I  passed  their  cottage  one  day  in 
September.  It  was  Nancy's  voice,  too.  What  fresh 
trouble  could  have  come  to  disturb  her  growing  happi- 
ness? I  tapped  at  the  door  but  no  one  appearing  I 
turned  the  handle  and  went  in. 

"  Can  I  help  ?  "  I  called,  fearing  to  intrude  and  yet 
not  wishing  to  go  away  with  the  sound  of  such  pain  in 
my  ears.  No  answer  came,  so,  hesitatingly,  I  went  to 
the  little  bedroom.  The  child  was  sitting  in  his  cot, 
gurgling  and  playing  with  his  toes,  quite  indifferent  to 
the  woman  who  was  lying  on  the  bed,  her  face  buried 
in  the  pillow,  trying  to  stifle  the  sobs  which  were  shak- 
ing her. 

"  Nancy,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked  as  I  put  my 
arms  around  her. 

"  I'm  going  away,"  she  said  presently,  when  she 
grew  quieter. 

"  To  leave  Sunnydale — why  ?  " 

"  It's  for  the  child's  sake.  Sam  Hill  still  wants  to 
marry  me  and  now  he  has  got  a  good  job  in  London 
and  wants  to  take  me  there." 

"  Sam  Hill  going  to  London !  Why,  what  will  they 
do  on  the  farm — what  will  his  father  say  ?  " 

"  He  has  got  the  job  for  my  sake,"  she  answered  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Sam  doesn't  want  to  go  any  more  than 
his  father  wants  him  to,  but  I  told  him  I  wouldn't 

[101] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


marry  him  and  live  here.  Now  Mother  says  I  ought 
to  go  away  for  the  child's  sake,  and  I  know  it  would 
be  better  for  him.  But  it's  fair  breaking  my  heart  to 
leave  here  and  to  marry — again, — if  there  was  only 
me,  I  wouldn't,"  she  added  with  a  brooding  love  in  her 
face. 

So  she  still  loved  the  man  who  had  caused  so  much 
misery!  And  Sam  Hill,  going  away,  giving  up  the 
farm  which  would  be  his,  almost  certainly  against  his 
father's  will,  for  it  meant  that  when  he  died  strangers 
would  inhabit  the  place  which  had  been  the  family 
home  for  so  many  years.  And  all  for  love!  Every- 
where around  me  the  shadow  of  its  force  seemed  to 
lie;  bonds  were  broken,  old  habits  changed,  hearts 
joined  and  then  wrenched  apart;  everywhere  it  left  a 
track  of  its  passing. 

"  Oh,  Nancy,"  I  said  sadly,  "  how  young  we  were 
when  we  made  our  vow.  Do  you  remember  that  we 
would  never,  never  leave  Sunnydale?  " 

"  Remember,  I  am  always  remembering,  I  ean't  for- 
get. But  you  at  least  won't  have  to  break  that  childish 
promise." 

"  No,"  I  answered  hesitatingly,  while  in  my  memory 
was  the  picture  of  the  autumn  woods  and  a  young 
buoyant  voice  urging  me  to  go  to  a  new  country.  I 
stooped  quickly  and  caught  up  the  child  to  hide  my 
tears. 

As  he  laughed  at  me,  opening  wide  his  blue  eyes,  I 
was  startled  by  a  likeness — to  whom?  Some  feeling 
made  me  look  up.  Nancy  was  watching  me  curiously 
[102] 


Marriage 

— was  it  fear  in  her  eyes  ?  "  Nancy !  "  I  said  breath- 
lessly, "  he's  like " 

"  Hush !  "  she  answered  sharply.  "  That's  what  I'm 
afraid  of.  Oh,  I  must  go  quickly." 

A  horrible  fear  was  tugging  at  my  heart — why 
didn't  she  deny  it?  Why  did  she  just  sit  there,  watch- 
ing the  child  with  hungry  eyes  and  planning  to  go 
away.  "  Nancy?  "  I  questioned  again  fearfully.  And 
then  a  hot  wave  of  shame  enveloped  me  and  putting 
the  child  down  I  began  to  creep  out  of  the  cottage. 

"  You'll  promise  me  never  to  mention  what  you 
even  think?"  She  grasped  my  arm,  dominating  me 
with  the  strength  of  the  love  which  all  along  had 
shielded  the  man,  and  before  she  let  me  go  she  had 
my  promise. 

Two  days  later  she  was  quietly  married  to  Sam  Hill 
and  in  the  evening  I  went  to  the  station  to  see  her 
off  to  her  new  home  in  London.  He  was  radiantly 
happy.  I  looked  at  Nancy's  pale  beauty,  and  thought 
what  a  contrast  it  made  to  the  bridegroom  in  all  the 
awkwardness  of  a  new  blue  suit  and  collar  and  bril- 
liant tie.  In  his  corduroys,  with  his  shirt  open  at  the 
neck,  showing  the  strong  brown  throat,  with  his  curly 
hair  and  great  red  hands  grasping  his  spade  or  wield- 
ing a  pick,  he  was  a  handsome  and  picturesque  figure ; 
now  in  these  stiff  unaccustomed  clothes  he  was  awk- 
ward, almost  grotesque.  I  saw  Nancy's  eyes  say  a 
mute  good-bye  to  the  home  she  loved,  and  the  sadness 
in  them  brought  the  tears  to  mine.  As  the  train  began 
to  move,  Sam  lifted  up  the  baby  to  wave  his  hands  out 

'[  103  ] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


of  the  window.  The  wind  touched  his  pale  gold  hair, 
and  with  the  laughter  in  his  eyes,  my  heart  almost 
stopped  beating,  as  I  looked  around  the  little  group. 

Surely  they  would  recognise  the  likeness?  But  no 
one  seemed  conscious  of  it — was  I  wrong  in  thinking 
that  I  saw  the  living  picture  of  my  brother  Tom  ? 


Chapter  Four 

IN  two  months  I  should  be  married !  I  grew  afraid. 
I  had  thought  that  friendship  and  admiration 
would  suffice,  but  I  was  beginning  to  realise  how  much 
more  was  necessary,  beginning  to  shrink  from  it. 
There  were  times  when  I  was  almost  on  the  point  of 
bursting  out  to  Sir  Mark — "  I  cannot  marry  you — I 
love  some  one  else !  " 

It  was  a  day  in  late  September  when  after  a  restless 
night  I  longed  to  get  out  into  the  early  morning  air 
and  as  I  went  into  the  porch,  our  old  postman  was 
coming  up  the  drive.  I  met  him  with  a  "  good  morn- 
ing "  which  was  much  gayer  than  I  felt,  and  he  held 
out  a  letter  to  me — "  There's  one  for  you,  Miss  Mar- 
garet." 

I  looked  at  the  unfamiliar  handwriting,  and  then  I 
saw  the  postmark — United  States  of  America. 

I  sat  down  on  the  green  velvet  of  the  lawn,  waiting 
until  I  could  see  to  read  it. 

Only  a  few  words  but  how  vital !  "  I  had  a  letter 
from  Robert  Haselton  the  other  day  and  I  gather  that 
you  are  not  yet  married.  Why?  Does  it  mean  that 
you  have  changed  your  mind,  that  Sunnydale  and  all 
the  rest  of  it  does  not  make  up  for  lack  of  love?  If 
by  a  happy  fate  it  does,  cable  me — just  one  word 

[105] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


'  Yes  '  and  I'll  be  over  by  the  next  steamer  to  bring  you 
home.  This  sounds  mighty  flat  but  I  can't  put  my 
thoughts  and  longing  on  paper.  But  tell  me  to  come! " 

So  he  wanted  me  still.  In  a  moment  doubts  and 
fears  left  me;  this  enormous  unexpected  blessing 
wrapped  me  in  a  cloud  of  happiness — nothing  mat- 
tered, nothing  but  his  love.  I  must  be  true  to  it  at  all 
costs,  even  if  I  hurt  Sir  Mark,  even  if  I  had  to  leave 
Sunnydale.  As  his  words  made  my  heart  beat,  I 
thought  how  like  my  impetuous  lover  they  were — and 
even  with  the  thought  I  realised  that  I  had  never  ap- 
plied that  word  to  Sir  Mark. 

I  went  out  through  the  orchard  into  the  woods  and 
on  the  top  of  the  hill  where  he  had  been  with  me. 
The  day  was  grey  and  cloudy,  but  the  colours  of  the 
trees  and  the  earth  and  the  fields  were  warm  and  beau- 
tiful. Reds  and  greens  and  yellows  and  browns  flared 
and  vied  with  each  other  amid  the  leaves  before  falling 
to  the  ground  and  leaving  the  boughs  they  had  cov- 
ered to  the  storms  of  winter. 

And  on  the  hill-top,  I  confirmed  my  choice.  The 
place  I  loved  stretched  before  me,  but  there  was  some- 
thing stronger,  more  vital  awaiting  me,  life  with  the 
man  I  loved.  In  the  glory  of  this  thought  I  began 
to  weave  dreams  that  perhaps  after  all  I  need  not  leave 
Sunnydale  for  ever.  Now  that  Meadowmere  would 
belong  to  me,  he  would  surely  feel  differently.  There 
was  work  for  a  man  to  do  here — fine  strong  work, 
even  if  it  would  not  shine  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
Tom  was  to  have  relieved  Father  of  some  of  the  man- 
[106] 


Marriage 

agement  of  the  estate  and  now  that  Tom  was  gone — 
why  couldn't  Edward  take  it  up  ?  Then  in  the  future, 
— a  long  way  in  the  future,  I  hoped,  for  I  loved  my 
father, — I  saw  Meadowmere  belonging  to  us,  to  me 
and  my  husband  and  our  son;  and  once  more  there 
would  be  a  Squire  Miller  at  Meadowmere,  a  Miller 
who  would  also  be  a  Boynton.  I  threw  out  my  arms 
towards  the  surrounding  hills  and  in  an  ecstasy  of 
future  happiness  I  watched  the  clouds  rolling  over 
the  valley. 

My  heart  beat  quickly  as  I  went  down  to  the  little 
post-office  to  send  my  message.  The  postmistress  was 
scarcely  awake,  the  shutters  had  only  just  been  taken 
down  and  she  stared  to  see  me  at  this  early  hour. 
My  hand  shook  and  the  paper  danced  before  my  eyes 
as  I  wrote  that  one  word — "  Yes." 

Then  I  went  back  to  tell  Sir  Mark. 

He  was  waiting  for  me  on  the  lawn  after  breakfast, 
as  usual,  and  as  he  came  forward  with  his  kind  smile, 
I  was  terribly  sorry  for  the  hurt  I  was  going  to  do  to 
him.  But  I  had  no  longer  any  misgivings  or  hesita- 
tions. In  the  knowledge  that  he  still  wanted  me  I 
seemed  to  have  found  an  older  determination;  I  felt 
as  though  I  could  fight  for  the  love  I  must  have. 

"  Mark,"  I  began  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  want  to  tell  you 
a  story."  And  I  told  him  of  my  love  for  the  stranger, 
of  my  struggles  against  it  and  how  finally  it  had  won. 

When  I  had  finished  he  made  no  sign,  but  the  tan 
of  his  face  became  a  greyish  colour,  more  terrible  than 
if  it  had  been  white. 

[  107  ] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  I  stammered. 

He  did  not  answer  but  his  blue  eyes  burned  with 
anger.  "  He  was  my  guest !  And  yet  he  tried  to  take 
you  away  from  me." 

Eagerly  I  defended  the  man  I  loved — "  Don't  blame 
him!  He  did  not  try  to  do  it,  it  all  came  upon  us 

suddenly,  we  were  both  so  young  and "  As  I  saw 

him  flinch,  I  realised  what  I  had  said,  the  unconscious 
cruelty  of  it — "  Mark,  Mark,  don't  look  like  that,  tell 
me  you  forgive  me !  " 

"  Don't  talk  about  forgiveness;  it  is  fate  and  I  have 
lost.  When  is  he  coming?  " 

"  I  don't  know — soon." 

"  Then  I  will  go  away  and  leave  the  field  clear,"  he 
said  bitterly,  "  that  would  be  easier  for  all." 

Quite  suddenly  I  thought  of  Tom's  debt,  that  made 
me  the  more  ashamed  to  be  indebted  to  the  man  I  was 
giving  up,  but  some  instinct  kept  me  silent.  I  knew 
it  would  hurt  him  still  more  to  mention  it  just  then. 

It  was  true  that  I  did  not  know  when  Edward  would 
come ;  but  it  would  be  soon,  there  would  be  no  waiting, 
no  postponing  where  he  was  concerned.  How  different 
this  coming  would  be  from  the  last  time  when  he  had 
been  a  guest  at  the  Hall,  an  honoured  visitor.  Now  he 
would  come  almost  as  an  enemy,  in  fighting  spirit, 
knowing  how  unwelcome  he  would  be  to  every  one 
but  me. 

I  could  not  tell  my  mother.  I  would  have  to  wait 
until  my  courage  was  backed  by  his  strength. 

A  week  passed — was  he  on  the  way  ?  A  fortnight — 
[108] 


Marriage 

I  lived  in  a  whirl  of  anticipation,  I  could  hardly  eat,  I 
could  not  keep  still.  Seventeen  days  passed — was  he 
coming?  I  began  to  be  afraid,  to  imagine  all  sorts  of 
terrible  things  which  might  have  happened ;  every  ring 
or  knock  set  my  heart  beating — was  it  he? 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  eighteenth  day  when  I 
was  called  to  the  telephone — "  Is  that  Miss  Margaret 
Miller?" 

"  Yes." 

"Margaret!"  It  was  his  voice,  he  had  come! 
Hardly  could  I  keep  myself  from  shouting  aloud,  from 
blazing  to  every  one  the  joy  which  flooded  my  veins. 
"  I'll  meet  you  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mere,"  he  said. 

There  was  another  path  to  it,  leading  round  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village,  so  that  no  one  would  see  him. 
Secrecy  added  to  my  exultation.  Before  stealing  out 
I  looked  at  myself  in  the  mirror;  had  I  altered?  A 
little  perhaps,  a  little  older-looking,  but  with  my  burn- 
ing cheeks  and  glowing  eyes  I  thought  that  he  would 
hardly  see  it.  On,  down  the  narrow  path,  past  the 
dark  waters  of  the  Mere  which  now  could  not  menace 
my  happiness,  another  few  yards  and  I  should  see 
him.  A  sharp  turn  to  the  right,  and — I  stopped  a 
moment  to  steady  myself,  for  under  the  autumn-tinted 
trees  stood  a  figure,  buoyant  and  youthful  and  vital — 
three  of  the  things  I  had  dreamed  of  in  my  lover.  .  .  . 
He  sees  me  coming — it  is  my  lover!  .  .  . 

Later,  when  I  had  to  face  the  ordeal  of  telling  him 
about  Tom,  about  Sir  Mark's  help  and  the  tragic  end- 
ing, I  watched  him  eagerly,  keenly,  and  thought  that 

[109] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


his  face  hardened.  Somehow  he  did  look  a  little  older 
and  sterner,  not  quite  so  fresh  and  buoyant.  Could  it 
be  that  one  year's  toil  for  achievement  had  already 
made  a  subtle  change? 

Then  I  burst  out  with  my  further  news — "  And 
Meadowmere  will  be  mine !  " 

"  Fine  and  dandy !  Isn't  it  a  pity  we  can't  transport 
it  bodily  to  America!  " 

"  Why  can't  we  live  in  it  here  ?  "  I  asked  boldly,  but 
with  an  inward  tremor. 

"  It  isn't  yours  yet." 

"  No,  but  it  will  be  some  day  and  meantime  Father 
wants  a  steward  badly.  Tom  was  going  to  help  in 
the  management  of  the  estate,  and  now  that  he  has 
gone,  why  can't  you  take  it  all  over?  I  know  Father 
would  agree,  he  would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  detail." 

"  No,  it  couldn't  be  done! "    He  was  still  smiling. 

Then  I  went  on  eagerly,  trying  to  show  him  the 
dreams  I  had  had  that  morning  on  the  hill-top. 
"  Won't  you  give  me  the  thing  I  want  best,  next  to 
you?  I  wouldn't  suggest  it  if  Meadowmere  wouldn't 
one  day  be  mine,  but  now  that  it  will  be,  won't  you  stay 
here?  There  is  fine  work  to  be  done,  work  which 
will  help  the  people  and  then  in  time  we  shall  live  in 
Meadowmere."  ...  A  few  seconds  passed  before  I 
could  tell  him  the  rest  of  my  dream. 

His  face  had  set  a  little  as  I  was  pleading,  but  at 
the  thought  of  a  child,  it  softened  again  and  I  saw 
that  look  in  his  eyes  which  set  my  pulses  throbbing. 
I  buried  my  face  against  his  shoulder  and  for  a  mo- 

[no] 


Marriage 

ment  he  stood  with  his  arms  around  me — then  in  a  low 
voice  he  said, 

"  Margaret,  I'd  like  to  give  you  what  you  want, 
but  you  remember  what  I  said  before.  It  would  be  no 
use  giving  way  and  then  feeling  resentful  ever  after. 
I  must  carve  out  my  own  life,  I  can't  be  beholden  to 
someone  else  for  what  would  be  a  sort  of  sine- 
cure  " 

"  It  wouldn't,"  I  interrupted,  "  it  would  be  real  hard 
work." 

"  But  /  shouldn't  have  gotten  the  job  through  my 
merits;  it  would  be  because  I  happened  to  be  the  hus- 
band of  Miss  Margaret  Miller.  Do  you  see?  I  want 
to  get  what  I  finally  achieve  by  my  own  efforts.  There 
is  another  thing;  if  I  left  my  country  and  my  father's 
business,  it  would  be  a  great  blow  to  him.  He  is  very 
proud  of  me,  and  I  am  proud  of  him.  He  started 
almost  at  the  bottom  but  he  has  given  me  everything 
and  now  I  must  do  something  for  our  name — the  name 
that  I  hope  our  son  will  bear."  His  voice  was  very 
soft  and  low,  his  arms  tightened  round  me.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  any  the  less  of  your  own  country, 
but  if  you  marry  me  you'll  be  marrying  an  American 
— we  mustn't  forget  that." 

I  looked  up  into  his  face;  there  was  no  sign  of  yield- 
ing. "  Margaret !  Aren't  you  willing  to  give  up 
everything  else  for  me  ?  "  he  asked  passionately. 

A  storm  of  feeling  shook  me;  after  all  nothing  else 
mattered,  nothing  but  his  love.  "  Yes !  "  I  whispered 
and  drawing  down  his  head,  I  kissed  him. 

[in] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  I  know  what  you  are  giving  up.  It's  a  lot  but  I 
will  make  you  happy.  That  first  time  when  you 
seemed  to  be  putting  other  things  before  me,  I  felt 
proud  and  hurt,  but  since  we  have  been  separated,  I 
have  come  to  understand  a  little  of  what  all  this  must 
mean  to  you,  of  how  much  you  love  this  place.  And 
yet  in  spite  of  that  I  know  that  I  can  make  you 
happy." 

"  I  know  you  can !  "  I  said  proudly  and  at  the  mo- 
ment Meadowmere  did  not  seem  to  matter.  .  .  . 

But  when  I  thought  of  the  necessary  interview  with 
Mother,  I  began  to  feel  a  qualm  of  anxiety — "  She  will 
be  terribly  angry.  Won't  you  wait  till  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  when  Father  will  be  home  again?  " 

"  Wait,  I  should  say  not !  "  he  answered  confidently, 
"  I  have  won  you  against  long  odds  and  I'm  going  to 
keep  you,  so  nothing  else  matters." 

And  I  went  home  glorying  in  the  thought  of  his 
strength  and  confidence. 

Under  Mother's  august  mien,  some  of  the  glow  van- 
ished and  I  began  to  get  more  nervous  until  at  a  maid's 
announcement,  "  Mr.  Boynton  wishes  to  see  you, 
ma'am,"  I  could  hardly  breathe. 

"  Mr.  Boynton!  "  said  she  in  great  surprise.  "  Mr. 
Boynton — I  thought  he  was  in  America !  " 

I  dropped  my  head  over  the  sewing  in  my  lap,  to 
hide  my  rising  colour,  feeling  very  small  and  ashamed. 
I  wished  that  I  had  had  more  courage,  or  that  she  had 
more  love  so  that  I  could  have  told  her  everything  in 
the  beginning. 

[112] 


Marriage 

She  was  smiling  sweetly  as  she  went  to  greet  him.  I 
don't  think  he  was  a  favourite  with  her,  but  it  was  her 
policy  to  be  nice  to  every  one.  There  was  a  com- 
municating door  between  the  drawing-room  and 
mother's  sitting-room  where  we  had  been  sewing,  so 
that  I  could  hear  every  word  of  their  distinct  voices. 
I  was  divided  between  two  intentions;  to  go  away, 
which  would  have  been  the  right  thing,  or  to  stay — 
and  I  stayed. 

"  Mrs.  Miller,"  Edward  began  without  any  pre- 
amble, "  I  want  to  marry  your  daughter." 

"  I  think  there  must  be  a  mistake."  Her  voice 
hardened.  "  My  daughter  is  engaged  to  Sir  Mark 
Haselton." 

"  That's  where  the  mistake  is — she  doesn't  love  him, 
she  loves  me." 

"  How  can  she — she  is  engaged,  you  knew  of  this 
engagement.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  spoken  of 
this  to  her?" 

"  Yes —I " 

"  How  dare  you  make  love  to  her  in  this  secret 
fashion !  "  she  broke  in.  "  She  is  engaged  to  Sir  Mark 
Haselton,  that  finishes  the  matter." 

"  Not  from  my  point  of  view,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Your  point  of  view  doesn't  count." 

"  Yes,  it  does  to  Margaret  and  me.  She  made  a 
mistake  when  she  promised  to  marry  Sir  Mark,  and 
she  has  found  it  out  in  time.  I  have  come  to  get  your 
consent  to  her  marrying  me  after  she  has  told  Sir  Mark 
the  truth." 

[US] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  I  will  not  give  it.  You  have  behaved  disgracefully 
in  speaking  to  her,  when  you  were  his  friend " 

His  voice  took  on  a  fighting  note — "  I  did  not  intend 
to  speak  to  her,  I  scarcely  realised  how  much  I  loved 
her  till  it  was  all  over.  She  refused  me  the  first  time 
in  her  effort  to  be  true  to  her  promise,  but  we  love  each 
other  too  much " 

"  I  refuse  my  consent  absolutely." 

"  Then  we  shall  have  to  do  without  it." 

I  think  that  my  mother  must  have  been  almost  as 
much  amazed  as  she  was  angry  that  her  imperious  will 
should  be  challenged  in  this  direct  way  by  this  boy, 
this  stranger. 

"  Mrs.  Miller,"  he  went  on  and  for  the  first  time 
there  was  impatience  in  his  voice,  "  you  can't  forbid 
your  daughter  to  marry  me.  We  love  each  other  and  I 
am  going  to  marry  her." 

"  If  you  take  her  away  from  Sunnydale  you  will 
rue  it  all  your  life!"  she  said  with  bitter  emphasis. 
"  Perhaps  you  do  not  realise  that  she  has  never  cared 
for  anything  or  any  one  as  much  as  her  home  and  all 
that  surrounds  it." 

"  She  does  now !  " 

"  For  the  moment,  possibly,  but  afterwards?  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  afterwards.  Won't  you  give 
your  consent?  " 

"  No.  She  must  carry  out  her  promise  to  Sir  Mark 
Haselton." 

"  Then  there  is  no  use  my  staying — good-bye,"  he 
said  as  he  went  away. 

[H4] 


Marriage 

All  that  afternoon  I  waited  for  my  mother  to  speak 
to  me,  waited  with  trepidation,  fearing  her  cold  voice 
and  its  scathing  comments  on  my  love.  But  she  did 
not  even  mention  the  interview.  So  she  treated  me  as 
a  silly  child,  not  worth  an  argument?  Though  her 
attitude  angered  me,  my  courage  failed  me  each  time 
I  tried  to  broach  the  subject. 

When  Father  came  home  I  spoke  to  him,  expecting 
that  he  would  sympathise  with  me,  stating  my  case 
eagerly  because  if  he  consented  Mother  would  have  to 
give  in.  But  I  found  him  unsympathetic ;  she  had  been 
talking  to  him  first.  The  only  thing  he  seemed  to  think 
of  was  the  scandal  and  publicity.  One  child  had  failed 
him,  now  another,  the  one  he  loved,  wished  to  add  to 
his  burden,  bringing  contempt  upon  the  Miller  name. 
"  I  won't  stand  it,"  he  said  irritably.  "  You  must  keep 
your  promise  to  Sir  Mark."  .  .  . 

"  Edward !  "  I  said  later,  as  I  managed  to  steal  out 

to  meet  him  by  the  Mere,  "  Edward,  I'm "  Then 

as  I  saw  him  smile, — "  What's  funny  ?  " 

'  The  '  Edward  ' — it  brings  back  old  memories  of  a 
painful  kind.  The  only  time  I  heard  it  as  a  kid  was 
when  trouble  was  coming  after  it.  You  know,  they 
just  said  '  Edward ! '  with  a  note  of  exclamation  be- 
hind it, — and  then  I  ran !  " 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  call  you  that?  " 

"  Well,  it  does  sound  kind  of  formal,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  All  right,  Eddie,"  I  agreed,  smiling  at  my  first 
thought  on  hearing  that  abbreviation.  Then  remem- 
bering my  trouble,  I  went  on  seriously,  "  I'm  afraid, 

[US] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


they  are  all  against  me.    I'm  afraid  they'll  make  me 
marry  Sir  Mark.    It's  going  to  be  terrible." 

"  Ain't  she  the  darndest  little  coward !  "  he  said,  but 
his  voice  took  away  the  sting,  "  Can't  you  stand  up  to 
them?" 

"  It's  not  easy  to  stand  up  to  Mother,  she  has  a  way 
of  silencing  objections." 

He  thought  for  a  few  moments,  his  face  set  in  the 
firm  line  which  appeared  when  he  was  fighting  op- 
position. Then  it  lighted  up  and  his  eyes  were  glow- 
ing as  he  whispered, 

"  You'll  have  to  run  away !  " 

"  Run  away !  "  I  whispered  aghast,  and  yet  with  a 
thrill  inside  me. 

"  Yes,  I'll  get  a  special  license — you  see  I  have  been 
finding  out  all  about  it  and  it's  quite  a  lot  more  difficult 
to  get  married  here  than  in  good  old  New  York,"  he 
said  ruefully. 

"  But  a  special  license  costs  a  lot  of  money !  " 

"  Never  mind  that — will  you  do  it  ?  " 

With  his  arms  around  me,  with  his  spirit  giving  me 
courage,  I  felt  capable  of  anything.  "  Yes,"  I 
whispered. 

And  so  he  arranged  that  I  should  meet  him  in 
London — "  that's  next  Thursday,  a  week  from  to-day, 
and  we  will  be  married." 

I  was  going  to  run  away  to  be  married !    Where  was 

the  safe,  uninteresting  plain  now ?     "I  used  to  be 

afraid  because  my  life  seemed  so  safe,  just  like  an 

endless  level   plain,   without  a  thrill.      Now   I'm  a 

[116] 


Marriage 

little  afraid  because  it  seems  suddenly  full  of  preci- 
pices ! " 

"  I  hope  the  precipices  don't  mean  marrying  me," 
he  said  humorously,  "  that's  kind  of  crushing." 

"  Yes,  they  do,"  I  answered  very  solemnly,  "  I'm 
frightened  because  I  love  you  so  much,  because  I — I — 
oh,  I  don't  know." 

The  smile  faded,  his  arms  tightened  around  me. 
And  into  his  eyes  there  came  a  look,  tender,  glowing, 
fierce,  a  look  which  filled  me  with  fear  and  then  with 
a  wonderful  glorious  happiness,  and  with  his  lips 
against  my  hair,  he  whispered,  "  I  am  glad  you  love 
me  like  that!" 

And  so  we  parted  for  a  week,  he  to  wait  for  me  in 
London — "  Where  can  I  write  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  Martha,"  I  whispered — it  seemed  im- 
possible to  speak  except  in  whispers  in  this  new  world 
which  was  glowing  around  me — "  she  will  sympathise, 
and  you  can  write  to  me  there." 

One  short  little  week  and  I  shall  be  married,  I 
thought  as  I  went  home.  I  felt  too  happy,  too  excited 
to  have  any  doubts,  to  feel  any  remorse  at  deceiving 
my  parents.  Everything  that  had  previously  ruled  my 
life  had  to  stand  out  of  the  way  of  this  dominating 
love. 

When  Wednesday  night  came  and  I  was  in  my  room 
for  the  last  time,  hearing  the  rustling  of  the  trees,  I 
could  not  sleep.  I  sat  by  the  window,  looking  into  the 
beautiful  woods.  My  dreams  had  come  true,  and  out 
of  them  had  come  a  voice  of  youth,  to  which  I  had 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


responded.  But  this  time  I  did  not  bow  my  head  in 
shame  for  love  had  conquered  every  other  feeling  but 
response. 

At  five  o'clock  next  morning  I  stole  out  of  the  house. 
Martha  was  down  by  the  Mere  to  say  good-bye  and  I 
felt  in  it  a  mother's  benediction.  Waving  to  her,  with 
a  choke  in  my  throat,  I  walked  slowly  to  the  lane 
which  skirted  the  village,  and  wound  round  it  to  the 
station,  three  miles  away  on  the  next  rise. 

For  a  moment  I  stopped  and  looked  back  over 
Sunnydale,  lying  in  the  valley,  to  where  in  the  dis- 
tance I  could  see  the  hill-side  on  which  stood  Meadow- 
mere,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  the  place  in  which  I 
had  always  lived.  As  I  watched,  a  faint  pale  light 
appeared  in  the  sky,  gradually  parting  the  dark  grey- 
ness.  The  sun  was  rising.  Another  day  was  dawning. 
It  was  strange  to  be  going  away  like  this,  to  be  walk- 
ing to  the  train,  to  have  no  one  with  me  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life.  This  simple  act  of  independence 
seemed  to  be  more  vivid  than  what  I  was  doing,  for 
although  I  kept  saying,  "  I  am  running  away  to  be 
married,"  the  words  scarcely  had  a  meaning,  they 
sounded  too  impossible  for  belief. 

The  train  came  in  and  ignoring  the  surprise  on  the 
station  master's  face,  I  jumped  in  and  huddled  myself 
in  a  corner,  feeling  very  small  and  helpless.  As  it 
started  I  tried  to  realise  that  I  had  left  my  former  life 
behind,  that  soon  I  should  no  longer  be  Miss  Margaret 
Miller  of  Meadowmere,  but  the  wife  of  an  American. 

And  then  suddenly  as  I  was  whispering  good-bye, 
[118] 


Marriage 

the  sun  appeared  over  the  hill-top,  flooding  the  .valley 
in  a  pale  soft  light,  and  with  a  thrilling  heart,  the  sense 
of  vagueness  vanished. 

I  was  going  to  him!  I  was  glad  to  be  leaving  all 
for  him!  A  glorious  day  was  going  to  dawn;  this 
burst  of  sunshine  was  an  emblem  of  the  life  before  us. 


Chapter  Five 

WHEN  I  got  out  of  the  train  at  Euston  and  found 
myself  in  the  roar  and  bustle  of  the  busy 
station,  I  again  felt  a  lonely  and  insignificant  atom,  but 
in  a  moment  my  hands  were  in  Eddie's  strong  grip  and 
immediately  his  touch  awoke  the  emotional  excitement 
which  made  me  capable  of  any  daring. 

"  This  all  your  baggage  ?  "  he  asked  smiling  gently. 

"  This  "  was  a  small,  forlorn  looking  suitcase  and 
as  I  nodded,  looking  up  at  him,  my  eyes  clouded. 
Quite  suddenly  I  realised  that  I  was  going  to  be  mar- 
ried without  having  anything  in  the  way  of  fine  clothes, 
or  money  to  buy  them — only  the  suit  I  wore  which  was 
moderately  new  and  the  few  things  I  had  been  able  to 
crush  into  a  suitcase.  My  vague  dreams  of  being  a 
bride  clad  in  the  laces  and  silks  I  had  pictured  as  the 
necessary  and  rightful  atmosphere  were  focussed  by  a 
bitter  disappointment.  I  was  going  to  be  married  and 
I  had  nothing  but  the  very  simple  clothes  which  Mar- 
garet Miller  always  wore ! 

Perhaps  Eddie  noticing  the  disappearance  of  the 
smile  which  had  greeted  him,  thought  that  it  was 
due  to  fear  or  regret,  for  as  we  drove  away  from  the 
station  he  sat  so  silently  and  stiffly  that  the  feeling  of 
forlornness  and  strangeness  was  emphasised  by  a 
[  120] 


Marriage 

sense  of  his  aloofness,  by  a  vague  enormous  distance 
which  separated  us.  Then  as  we  turned  into  a  quiet 
street,  with  an  abrupt,  almost  rough  gesture,  he  put 
his  arm  around  me  and  kissed  me,  and  I  forgot  every- 
thing but  the  intimate  sense  of  unity,  of  having  no 
separate  will,  no  individual  existence.  When  he  raised 
his  head,  I  saw  with  startled  awe  that  his  eyes  were 
not  quite  dry  and  immediately  the  intoxicating  sense  of 
his  power  over  me  which  had  been  so  complete  the 
moment  before,  faded  into  a  tenderness  which  was  al- 
most painful.  No  protestation,  nothing  that  he  could 
have  done  would  have  touched  me  so  deeply  as  this 
unconscious  evidence  of  the  strength  of  his  love.  I 
felt  humbled  and  yet  triumphant. 

We  were  married  in  a  church  which  stands  in  an 
island  in  the  traffic  of  the  Strand,  which  has  been  left 
there,  as  it  were,  a  lonely  sentinel  against  the  encroach- 
ing "  busyness."  In  its  empty  spaces,  I  was  conscious 
of  a  sense  of  detachment,  my  thoughts  straying  to  the 
people  who  had  been  married  under  its  roof,  to  the 
children  who  had  been  christened  there,  to  the  last 
services  which  had  been  read  over  their  bodies;  an 
innumerable  procession  making  the  present  seem  un- 
important, passing,  insignificant.  Then  without  se- 
quence my  thoughts  went  to  my  imaginary  dreams  of 
my  wedding  day,  the  white  flowers,  the  music,  the 
minister  who  had  held  me  as  a  baby,  the  crowds  of 
people  who  had  known  me  just  so  long  as  I  had  lived, 
wishing  me  happiness — vague  dreams  so  different 
from  this  reality. 

[121] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


A  decrepit,  incredibly  ancient  man  who  was  ap- 
parently the  sexton  and  a  woman  who  might  have  been 
a  cleaner  were  the  necessary  witnesses.  The  sound  of 
the  minister's  voice  was  peculiarly  loud,  yet  the 
words  he  uttered  which  were  to  alter  my  whole  future 
fell  on  my  ears  vaguely;  in  the  unusual  silence  of  the 
empty  church  behind  us  there  was  something  so  un- 
familiar that  it  brought  a  sense  of  irreverence,  almost 
of  indecency.  And  then  my  wandering  thoughts  were 
concentrated  by  the  touch  of  Eddie's  hands. 

As  we  walked  out  of  the  church,  he  crushed  my 
fingers,  whispering  gaily,  triumphantly,  "  And  so  they 
were  married !  " 

"  And  lived  happily  ever  after,"  I  echoed  in  the  same 
tone. 

His  face  set  into  solemnity.  "  Oh,  Margaret,  you 
must  be  happy.  I  have  taken  you  away  from  every- 
thing, you  must  be  happy !  " 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be !  "  I  answered,  vagueness  and 
doubts  vanishing  into  increasing  confidence.  "  Where 
are  we  going  now  ?  " 

"  For  lunch  first,  and  after — don't  you  want  to 
spend  some  money?  " 

"Oh,  Eddie,  I  can  go  and  buy  some  clothes?  " 

"  Why,  sure ! "  He  laughed  delightfully,  as  my 
lingering  disappointment  over  the  poverty  of  my  outfit 
faded  into  an  intense  delight  which  I  did  not  try  to 
hide.  How  '  understanding '  he  was,  how  generous 
and  thoughtful!  That  he  was  even  more  than  gener- 
ous, almost  prodigal  in  the  spending  of  money  I  rea- 

[122] 


Marriage 

lised  when  we  sat  down  to  the  splendid  lunch  he  had 
ordered,  and  in  a  moment  when  the  waiter's  back  was 
turned,  I  whispered  fearfully,  "  Aren't  we  being  too 
extravagant?  " 

He  laughed  again.  "  Gosh,  what  would  you  have  ? 
A  fellow  don't  get  married  every  day." 

When  we  had  eaten,  there  was  a  taxi  waiting  for 
us.  "  Now  you  go  ahead  and  buy  just  what  you  want, 
but  as  you  value  your  life  don't  ask  me  to  come  into 
the  stores  with  you.  I'll  sit  in  the  taxi  and  medi- 
tate." 

"You're  going  to  keep  it  waiting?"  I  asked  sur- 
prisedly. 

"  Sure,  what  else  would  you  do?  "  He  seemed  just 
as  much  surprised. 

"  It  seems  extravagant,"  I  answered  lamely,  thinking 
of  the  standards  of  Sunnydale.  And  as  he  lavishly 
poured  money  into  my  purse  I  was  still  more  amazed 
at  this  generous  expenditure.  He  must  be  far  richer 
than  I  had  imagined,  I  thought  joyously,  but  too  shy 
to  risk  a  question. 

Passionately  grateful  for  his  generosity  and  thought- 
fulness,  I  went  off  to  my  purchase  of  clothes.  It  was 
a  novel  and  delightful  experience  to  buy  just  what  I 
liked  without  the  tie  of  Mother's  dampening  sugges- 
tions. I  revelled  in  soft,  dainty,  exquisite  clothes  such 
as  I  had  dreamed  about  and  never  owned. 

And  thus  it  was  that  Margaret  Boynton  was  not  un- 
beautified  as  she  looked  in  the  mirror  that  night,  re- 
joicing in  the  sight  of  the  small  fairy-like  figure,  with 

[123] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


brilliant  shining  eyes,  radiant,  triumphant.  Without 
regret,  with  scarcely  a  passing  thought  for  the  years 
which  had  gone  or  the  people  I  had  known,  I  said  good- 
bye to  my  girlhood,  and  passionately  stretched  out  my 
arms  to  the  future. 


[124] 


Chapter  Six 

WE  had  wired  to  Father  and  Mother  as  soon  as 
we  were  married  and  next  day  I  wrote  them  a 
long  letter,  asking  for  their  forgiveness,  trying  to  ex- 
plain why  I  had  had  to  hurt  them,  how  I  had  tried  to 
keep  my  old  promise  and  how  everything  had  been 
unavailing  before  this  new  force.  "  We  are  going  to 
sail  for  America  in  two  weeks,"  I  added.  "  Oh,  please 
come  and  say  good-bye  to  me,  or  let  me  come  to 
Meadowmere." 

At  first  it  seemed  as  though  I  had  no  thoughts  or 
memories,  only  emotions,  only  the  sense  of  the  breath- 
less happiness  which  I  had  wanted  with  my  whole 
being.  But  in  the  content  of  possessing  it,  I  began  to 
have  time  to  be  sorry  for  hurting  Father  so  much.  As 
I  thought  of  him  alone  in  his  study,  all  the  structure 
of  his  hopes  and  dreams  fallen  in  a  mass  around  him, 
I  knew  a  keen  remorse  and  a  desire  for  his  forgiveness 
which  grew  into  longing  as  the  days  went  by  and  no 
word  came.  Even  the  memory  of  the  long  years  of 
Mother's  coldness  was  less  keen  than  that  of  those 
months  when  I  had  been  of  use  to  her. 

And  in  the  beginning  of  the  second  week,  when 
Eddie  had  to  attend  to  some  business  and  I  was  left 

[125] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


alone  for  a  few  hours  in  the  big  hotel,  I  thought 
further  of  what  was  coming. 

In  a  few  days  I  should  have  left  England,  I  should 
have  turned  my  back  on  Meadowmere,  on  Sunnydale 
and  all  the  things  I  had  known  and  loved.  The 
strength  of  the  force  which  had  won  me  away  from 
them  amazed  me;  and  with  that  came  a  thought  of  the 
vow  which  two  girls  had  made  against  a  background 
of  roses.  In  a  few  days  I  should  be  going  to  a  new 
land,  among  strange  people.  In  the  whole  of  that 
vast  continent  I  should  not  know  one  single  man, 
woman  or  child;  except  my  husband  not  one  human 
being  would  recognise  me  amid  a  crowd.  And  to  me 
who  had  always  lived  in  the  one  place  where  strange 
faces  were  the  rare  exception,  the  idea  began  to  grow 
until  I  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  panic.  How  ter- 
rible it  would  be  to  walk  along  strange  streets  and 
never  meet  a  face  which  would  light  up  with  love  or 
friendship  for  me.  In  the  few  hours  when  I  was  alone 
this  homesick  feeling  became  so  strong  that  I  was 
afraid  of  it  and  pathetically  set  about  a  denial  of  its 
existence.  But  always  when  Eddie  was  with  me  such 
thoughts  faded  into  the  midst  of  things  which  did  not 
count,  and  I  chided  myself  for  being  foolish  and 
childish. 

And  thus  when  Eddie  said  one  morning  that  he  had 
a  business  interview  which  would  last  till  lunch  time, 
I  determined  that  I  would  not  sit  alone,  nursing  this 
growing  sense  of  panic,  but  would  plunge  into  the 
publicity  of  the  lounge  and  wait  for  him  there.  It  was 
[126] 


Marriage 

the  first  time  I  had  had  the  courage  to  enter  the  vast 
pillared  space  by  myself,  for  the  self-consciousness 
which  I  thought  school  had  effectively  conquered  had 
been  brought  into  evidence  again  by  the  crowds  of 
strangers  and  the  novelty  of  staying  in  a  large  and 
fashionable  hotel.  My  previous  experiences  of  a 
London  hotel  had  been  a  queer  old-fashioned  place 
near  Oxford  Street,  where  every  one  knew  Father  and 
which  was  quite  unexciting  and  homelike.  Here  I 
could  not  get  away  from  the  feeling  that  people  were 
watching  me  and  the  knowledge  that  I  had  run  away 
to  be  married  would  somehow  communicate  itself  to 
them. 

I  glanced  around  self-consciously  and  met  the  eye 
of  a  middle-aged  nice-looking  man  who  was  appar- 
ently aware  of  me.  In  the  midst  of  the  unconscious, 
frigid  glances  which  seemed  to  deny  my  existence,  his 
half -smiling  look  was  delightful.  My  face  was  simi- 
larly relaxing  when  a  bell  boy  came  through  the  lounge 
and  with  a  jumping  heart  I  realised  that  his  sing-song 
voice  was  calling, 

"  Mrs.  Edward  Boynton !  " — then  a  pause  "  Mrs. 
Edward  Boynton ! " 

I  sat  rooted  to  my  chair,  moments,  seeming  like 
hours,  passing  before  I  had  courage  to  speak  out  and 
claim  my  new  name. 

It  was  a  special-delivery  letter;  it  was  from  Sir 
Mark.  I  forgot  the  kindly  stranger,  as  instinct  sent 
me  to  my  room  for  its  perusal  because  I  had  not  yet 
attained  the  habit  of  feeling  alone  in  a  crowd. 

[127] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Tears  gathered  in  my  eyes  as  I  read  the  well-known 
writing  and  a  sense  of  communion  with  the  things 
that  had  been  made  the  present  momentarily  dream- 
like. 

"  I  only  returned  to  Sunnydale  yesterday,"  Mark 
wrote,  "  to  find  that  you  had  gone,  and  as  I  hear  you 
will  be  sailing  in  a  few  days,  I  am  hurrying  this  letter 
to  you  to  wish  you  much  happiness,  and  to  send  you 
my  wedding  present  I  think  you  will  like  to  have 
this  link  with.  Sunny  dale,  and  I  hope  it  will  convey  to 
you  the  message  I  want  to  send — that  the  bitterness 
with  which  I  first  heard  your  news  has  gradually 
faded,  and  that  now  I  can  think  of  you  as  the  little  girl 
I  used  to  know,  who  was  and  is  my  friend,  and  who 
has  found  a  happiness  which  I  ought  to  have  realised 
a  man  of  my  age  could  not  give  to  the  young  vital 
thing  she  is. 

"  With  all  good  wishes  to  you  and  your  husband, 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 
"  MARK." 

A  paper  had  fluttered  on  to  the  ground  and  with 
tears  running  down  my  cheeks,  I  picked  it  up.  It  was 
a  piece  of  parchment  on  which  were  many  flourishes 
and  finally,  amid  saids  and  aforesaids  and  inasmuches, 
I  grasped  the  truth — it  was  a  deed  giving  the  owner- 
ship of  six  cottages  at  Sunnydale  to  Mrs.  Edward 
Boynton. 

Oh,  Mark,  Mark,  I  understand!     But  what  new 
wisdom  is  it  which  makes  me  wonder  whether  it  were 
not  better  that  there  should  not  be  a  link  with  Sunny- 
[128] 


Marriage 

dale,  whether  it  were  not  better  that  I  should  forget 
that  part  of  my  life  for  fear  it  might  fight  with  the 
new? 

On  the  next  page  there  was  a  postscript  reading — 
"  If  you  wish  it,  my  steward,  who  as  you  know  is 
honest  and  in  sympathy  with  the  people,  would  look 
after  the  cottages  for  you  and  you  could  pay  him  a 
small  percentage  for  his  trouble." 

Still  the  same  thoughtful  Mark !  When  Eddie  came 
in  and  saw  the  traces  of  tears  on  my  face,  "  Hello," 
he  said  anxiously,  "  Crying?  What's  up?  " 

I  handed  him  the  letter  and  as  he  read  his  face 
settled  into  a  wooden  expression  which  hid  all  feeling. 

"Isn't  he  awfully  kind,  Eddie?"  I  exclaimed 
eagerly. 

"  So  now  you  are  a  landowner,  Margaret!  "  was  all 
he  answered. 

"You  don't  mind?" 

"  I  should  say  not.  By  the  way  I  have  an  invitation 
for  you." 

"  An  invitation !  "  I  echoed  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  to  dinner  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Hasel- 
ton." 

"  Why  how  funny  of  him  to  ask  us,"  I  said  thought- 
lessly. 

"Why?" 

"  I  mean — well,  he  is  Sir  Mark's  brother,  and " 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  I  am  doing  a 
lot  of  business  with  him  while  I  am  here,  and  he  prob- 
ably looks  upon  it  just  as  business  courtesy.  Besides 

[129] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


he  was  awfully  good  to  me  when  I  was  here  the  first 
time." 

"  Yes,  but  that  was — before " 

"  But  that's  nothing  to  do  with  him" 

"  But  it  has — it  ought  to  have,  it's  his  brother,  it's 
part  of  his  family." 

My  husband  laughed.  "  Oh,  that  terrible  '  family  ' 
of  yours!  If  your  brother  had  been  beaten  up  in  a 
fair  fight,  you  surely  wouldn't  hate  the  man  who'd 
done  it?" 

"  I  certainly  wouldn't  like  him.  You  see  it  would 
be  my  brother  who  was  beaten  and  I  would  feel  I 
ought  to  stick  to  his  side  out  of  loyalty." 

"  What  a  corking  member  of  a  vendetta  you'd 
make!  You'll  find  though  that  your  attitude  won't 
work  in  modern  life." 

"  No,  I  shan't,"  I  answered  stubbornly,  "  I  think  a 
family  ought  to  stick  together  and  defend  one 
another." 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  ending  the  argument  with  a 
kiss,  "  now  let's  go  and  eat." 

We  found  Mr.  Robert  Haselton  and  his  handsome 
wife  in  a  pretty  house  in  the  west  of  London.  It  was 
not  very  large  compared  with  our  houses  in  the  coun- 
try, but  its  flower-filled  window  boxes,  its  fresh  paint 
and  gleaming  knocker  gave  it  a  cheerful  air  outside, 
and  it  was  furnished  with  a  quiet  elegance  which  made 
it  very  comfortable  and  homelike. 

On  the  few  occasions  when  I  had  seen  Mr.  Haselton 
at  Sunnydale  I  had  never  liked  him,  now  I  liked  him 

[  130] 


Marriage 

still  less.  He  was  totally  different  from  Sir  Mark. 
He  had  an  easy  worldly  sort  of  manner,  and  behind  it 
he  always  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  people.  As  he 
greeted  me  there  was  some  satire  in  his  smile  which 
made  me  blush  and  feel  young  and  stupid;  there  was 
something  in  his  manner  which  seemed  to  penetrate 
the  beautiful  glamour  with  which  this  precious  new 
love  was  sheathed. 

"If  you  ever  come  to  New  York  on  business,  don't 
forget  it's  the  place  which  holds  us,"  was  my  husband's 
parting  remark.  "  I'll  send  you  our  private  address 
later." 

As  Mr.  Haselton  bowed  over  my  hand,  saying,  "  I 
certainly  won't  forget,"  I  again  had  the  feeling  that 
my  love  was  lying  bare  under  his  satiric  worldly  blue 
eyes.  "  I  don't  like  him  a  bit,"  I  remarked  to  Eddie 
later,  but  he  only  laughed. 

"Why,  I  think  he's  fine!" 

The  day  before  our  sailing  date  came  and  there  was 
still  no  word  from  Father!  I  sent  him  another  tele- 
gram telling  him  the  time  of  the  train  on  which  we 
were  going  up  to  Liverpool,  and  begging  him  to  come 
and  see  us  off — "  it  will  be  unbearable  going  away 
without  saying  good-bye !  " 

I  looked  eagerly  amid  the  crowds  which  were  gath- 
ered on  the  landing  stage  to  see  the  liner  sail  and  just 
as  I  was  disappointedly  about  to  give  up  the  search,  I 
saw  my  father,  standing  a  little  apart,  dignified,  alone. 
A  lump  came  into  my  throat  at  the  sight  of  his  tall 
thin  figure  as  I  thought  how  sad  he  must  feel  at  the 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


frustration  of  all  his  plans  for  the  future.  But  he 
greeted  me  with  his  ordinary  quiet  manner  and  I  could 
not  make  out  how  he  felt  as  he  shook  hands  with  Eddie 
in  a  matter-of-fact  way.  We  were  so  surrounded  by 
people  that  I  could  not  even  ask  him  if  he  forgave  me; 
it  was  like  a  meeting  between  passing  acquaintances. 

"  I  have  straightened  out  the  question  of  Meadow- 
mere,  Margaret,"  he  said  in  the  momentary  intimacy 
of  an  inspection  of  our  state  room,  "  when  the  time 
comes  for  you  to  inherit  it,  there  will  be  no  difficulties. 
I  suppose  you  will  both  come  back  then?  " 

I  glanced  at  my  husband — would  he,  I  wondered, 
would  he  ever  give  way?  If  only  I  could  have  that  to 
look  forward  to,  the  future  would  not  hold  a  cloud. 
I  could  not  help  smiling  inwardly  at  the  suspicion  that 
Father  thought  Meadowmere  had  been  an  influence  in 
Eddie's  choice,  while  all  the  time  I  knew  my  husband 
would  have  been  rather  relieved  if  the  whole  inheri- 
tance had  vanished  into  space.  Then  as  I  saw  the 
sadness  of  my  father's  face,  I  grasped  his  hand, — 

"  I  don't  know,  but  don't  let's  think  of  the  future. 
You  are  there  now,  Father,  and  Meadowmere  still  has 
its  '  Squi-er.'  Sir  Mark's  bailiff  is  going  to  look  after 
my  cottages — you  know  about  them,  don't  you?  "  I 
asked,  a  little  shyly. 

"  Yes,  Mark  told  me.    He's  a  splendid  man." 

Though  I  agreed  in  my  heart,  it  was  rather  embar- 
rassing to  have  his  praise  sung  before  my  husband, 
and  for  the  moment  I  was  glad  that  the  cry  went  up 
of  "  Visitors  to  the  Shore !  "  Then  the  thought  that  I 

[132] 


Marriage 

was  leaving  my  father  broke  through  my  reserve  and 
I  kissed  him  passionately,  sorrow  tightening  my  throat. 

A  last  handshake — a  last  word,  "  Give  my  love  to 
Mother  and  to  Tom  when  you  write,"  and  we  were 
parted.  Slowly  the  steamer  left  its  moorings  and  I 
saw  him  standing  there  alone. 

Poor,  poor  Father!  The  force  of  old  associations 
brought  a  keener  remorse  for  disappointing  him.  Tom 
first,  then  me,  now  it  must  seem  as  though  no  child 
were  left  to  him. 

I  was  alone  as  we  sailed  down  the  river  in  the  grey 
November  evening,  for  Eddie  had  gone  to  look  after 
table-seats  and  chairs.  As  I  watched  the  coast  line 
gradually  disappear  in  the  surrounding  darkness, 
memories,  hopes,  dreams,  so  intimately  connected  with 
the  place  I  loved,  were  tugging  at  my  heart  till  it 
seemed  as  though  some  dissolution  must  take  place, 
part  of  me  sailing  on  and  on  over  this  smooth  water, 
while  another  part,  a  vital  one,  remained  behind.  As 
I  strained  my  eyes  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  the 
shore,  as  I  looked  until  I  could  not  tell  which  was  shore 
or  sky  or  sea,  a  pain  gathered  round  my  heart, 
stifling  me. 

I  scarcely  felt  my  husband's  touch  as  he  came  up 
and  grasped  my  hand,  till  his  low  words  brought  me 
back,  "  I  will  make  you  happy,  dear,  and  soon  you'll 
be  mighty  proud  of  your  new  country.  It's  so  big 
and  wonderful!  " 

I  looked  at  him  vaguely,  thinking  how  stupid  he  was 
to  praise  the  new  country  when  my  heart  was  being 

[133] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


torn  by  love  of  the  old.  For  a  moment  I  lost  the  sense 
of  intimacy  so  that  it  seemed  as  though  there  stood 
an  enemy  whose  strength  had  forced  me  away  from  the 
place  I  loved. 

I  was  startled  by  this  glimpse  of  a  strange  woman, 
antagonistic,  critical,  resentful,  even  though  she 
changed  so  swiftly  into  the  woman  I  knew  whose  pas- 
sionate love  for  the  man  by  her  side  absorbed  every 
other  feeling.  The  passing  glimpse  suggested  terrify- 
ing possibilities,  .for  in  my  absorption  in  my  happiness 
and  emotion  the  thought  of  such  a  moment  of 
estrangement  had  never  entered.  It  was  like  the  sud- 
den discovery  that  the  delicate  flowers  of  a  plant  which 
seem  altogether  beautiful  hold  a  deadly  poison;  we 
may  escape  it  and  yet  the  very  knowledge  of  its  pres- 
ence makes  a  faint  menacing  shadow  in  the  former 
perfection. 

With  a  shiver  I  put  the  memory  of  the  moment  out 
of  my  mind,  and  slipping  my  hand  through  Eddie's 
arm,  silently  watched  the  darkening  horizon  before  we 
went  down  to  dinner. 

The  water  exercised  a  peaceful  soothing  spell  which 
made  the  future  seem  as  far  away  as  the  past.  What 
did  anything  matter  so  long  as  the  breeze  blew  and  the 
salt  spray  lashed  one's  face,  and  every  one  just  ate 
and  slept  and  loitered,  leaving  their  energy  in  pawn  till 
they  reached  New  York !  Eddie  found  a  man  he  knew 
with  whom  he  had  endless  business  discussions  and  as 
I  lay  in  my  deck  chair  lazily  watching  the  smooth  green 
mass  pass  by,  scraps  of  their  conversation  floated  to 

[134] 


Marriage 

me,  leaving  words  or  phrases  in  my  memory  which 
meant  nothing  and  which  yet  caught  my  interest — 
"  Dollars — stocks — good  business — margins  .  .  .  that 
would  cost  a  wad  of  greenbacks  ..."  When  we 
were  together  I  tried  to  get  enlightenment  on  these 
puzzles. 

"  What  is  a  wad  of  greenbacks?  " 

"  Dollars,  piles  of  dollars." 

"  And  margins?  " 

"  Why,  kiddie,  you  don't  want  to  worry  your  pretty 
head  about  such  things,  they  are  to  do  with  stocks, 
but  you  wouldn't  be  interested." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  seem  to  find  it  all  very  inter- 
esting." 

"  Gee,  I  have  to,  as  I'm  the  money-spinner;  it's  part 
of  my  life." 

"I  see!"  But  vaguely  I  felt  that  I  did  not  see. 
Why  should  there  be  such  a  division  line?  If  it  were 
part  of  his  life,  must  it  not  be  part  of  mine,  now  that 
our  lives  were  bound  together?  But  I  was  too  lazy 
and  peaceful  to  bother  just  then. 

When  we  began  to  get  near  enough  to  New  York 
for  the  old  travellers  to  bethink  themselves  of  the  story 
about  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  of  which  Eddie  said  there 
were  a  hundred  variations  around  the  one  centre-piece 
— and  for  these  same  old  travellers  to  begin  to  argue 
as  to  what  they  could  see,  or  could  not  see,  and  whether 
that  was  Long  Beach,  or  the  Rockaways,  and  when 
Coney  would  be  in  sight,  and  how  soon  we  could  dock, 
— I  began  to  have  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  How  I 

[1351 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


envied  these  people  to  whom  these  places  meant  that 
they  were  nearing  home.  The  week  on  the  ocean  had 
been  a  sort  of  breathing  spell,  but  now  that  I  was  so 
near  the  new  life  I  knew  again  a  sense  of  panic.  What 
would  Eddie's  people  be  like?  Would  they  like  me? 
Would  I  find  a  friend  in  his  sister,  Maisie,  who  was 
about  my  own  age  and  who  had  just  been  married? 

The  peace  which  had  been  with  us  was  broken  by  a 
suppressed  excitement;  people  who  had  been  willing 
to  stay  and  chat  about  nothing  at  all  now  began  to 
fuss  over  luggage,  to  become  important  and  busy  and 
bustling.  We  were  going  to  land — soon  the  thing  was 
done — we  had  landed,  and  I  was  stepping  on  the  soil 
of  my  new  homeland. 

Such  wavings  and  greetings,  such  jests  and  merri- 
ment, so  much  friendship  and  intimacy!  I  felt  very 
lonely  and  then  I  saw  Eddie  step  forward  and  grasp 
the  hand  of  a  tall  thin  man  and  disappear  in  the  em- 
brace of  a  short,  stout  woman,  whose  appearance, 
naturally  motherly,  was  in  complete  contrast  to  her 
fashionable  clothes.  A  pretty  girl,  also  smartly 
dressed,  kissed  him  in  a  casual  manner  and  immedi- 
ately I  was  introduced — these  were  my  new  rela- 
tions. 

I  liked  Mr.  Boynton.  He  had  a  twinkle  in  his  keen 
eyes  and  there  was  something  strong  and  reassuring  in 
his  handshake.  But  Mrs.  Boynton  made  me  nervous ; 
she  was  so  friendly,  so  jovial,  kissing  me  as  though  I 
were  an  only  daughter  returning  to  her  arms.  If  she 
had  been  shy  and  distant,  I  could  have  understood,  my 

[136] 


Marriage 

own  feelings  would  have  given  me  the  clue,  but  as  it 
was  I  wondered  what  would  happen  when  she  really 
got  to  know  me. 

"  Maisie,  you  look  after  your  new  sister  while 
popper  and  I  help  Ed  with  the  baggage !  " 

I  turned  hopefully  to  Maisie,  longing  for  a  com- 
panion in  all  this  strangeness.  But  she  gave  me  a  cool 
little  smile,  and  she  looked  so  much  older  than  I  had 
expected,  so  much  at  ease,  so  smart  and  self-possessed 
that  I  felt  very  young  and  stupid  beside  her.  In  the 
latter  respect  she  probably  agreed  for  after  a  few 
moments  she  began  to  look  around  her  with  a  bored 
and  indifferent  air. 

Presently  I  saw  her  eyes  brighten  as  a  thin  young 
man  came  into  view.  "  Why,  here's  Clarrie !  "  she  said, 
and  walked  off  to  meet  him.  I  was  left  alone  in  the 
midst  of  this  endless  confusion,  watching  the  reunion 
of  families,  the  gesticulating  over  baggage  as  it  was 
wheeled  about  by  swarthy  porters,  while  the  shouting 
expressmen  tried  to  secure  it  for  their  respective  com- 
panies. What  a  terrible  noise  there  was ! 

As  Maisie  and  her  companion  came  back  I  was 
"  asked  to  meet  Mr.  Clarence  Wood."  I  blushed,  for 
the  name  of  Maisie's  husband  was  Whiting  and  until 
this  moment  I  had  supposed  that  this  young  man  was 
he.  Who  was  this  Mr.  Wood  who  was  greeted  with  a 
familiar  "  Hello,  Clarrie !  "  by  the  others  as  they  joined 
us,  who  put  us  into  a  taxi,  explaining  that  "  Jack,  Mr. 
Whiting,  couldn't  get  away  from  the  office,  but  hoped 
we  would  excuse  him." 

[137] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


I  would  have  excused  anything  for  we  had  been  up 
since  five  o'clock  and  the  racket  and  confusion  had 
given  me  a  headache  that  made  things  swirl  around  me. 
In  the  midst  of  these  strangers  who  claimed  intimate 
relationship  with  my  husband,  I  felt  that  he  too  had 
receded  into  the  distance  and  become  one  with  this 
strangeness,  leaving  me  alone  amid  it  all. 

"  You're  tired,  poor  thing!  Up  early,  I  know,"  said 
Mrs.  Boynton  with  a  soothing  air.  "  Well,  well,  just 
wait  a  bit,  she  won't  be  tired  in  a  few  minutes,  will 
she,  Popper?  " 

"  I  should  say  not !  "  said  Popper,  with  a  wink  at 
Eddie,  who  glanced  quickly  at  me.  There  was  an  air 
of  expectancy  about  the  three  of  them  and  I  won- 
dered vaguely  what  the  mystery  was  all  about.  Maisie 
continued  to  look  bored.  After  a  little  while  the  taxi 
stopped,  and  I  saw  that  we  were  in  a  wide  street  with 
enormous  blocks  of  stone  buildings  on  either  side.  We 
went  up  some  steps  sentinelled  by  two  pillars  holding 
branching  electric  lights  through  marble  halls,  car- 
petted  with  lovely  Turkish  rugs,  to  a  lift  by  which 
stood  a  man  in  uniform. 

"  Is  this  a  hotel  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Hotel !  " — and  more  nods  and  winks — "  Hotel ! 
I  should  say  it  wasn't !  "  In  my  present  mood  the 
mystery  irritated  me,  but  I  was  too  tired  to  ask  what 
it  was  and  we  shot  up  and  up  and  then  stopped  with 
a  jerk  which  seemed  to  leave  most  of  me  still  travel- 
ling upwards  through  the  roof. 

Mr.  Boynton  produced  a  key,  opened  a  door  and 

[138] 


Marriage 

then  his  wife,  with  an  air  of  pride,  preceded  us  and 
flung  it  back.     "  Welcome  home !  "  she  said. 

"  Is  this  where  you  live?  "  I  asked,  secretly  amazed 
that  any  one  could  live  so  far  away  from  Mother 
Earth. 

She  began  to  chuckle.  "Where  we  live!  I  guess 
not,  this  is  where  two  young  people  I  know  are  going 
to  live." 

"  Eddie !  "  I  stammered,  and  stopped.  For  he  was 
looking  around  him  with  pride  and  delight  shining  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Why,  Mother,  what  a  gorgeous  place  you've  made. 
Margaret,  this  is  our  wedding  present  from  Father  and 
Mother.  They've  furnished  it  and  fixed  it  up  for  us. 
We  thought  it  would  be  a  nice  surprise  for  you.  Isn't 
it  a  dandy  home?  " 

Home! — perched  up  on  the  side  of  this  enormous 
building,  furnished  and  fixed  by  some  one  else — home, 
this  intense  newness  of  furniture,  pictures,  rugs,  paint, 
all  glaring  spotlessly  and  everything  set  in  just  the 
right  place — without  a  garden,  without  a  house.  And 
part  of  my  dreams  had  been  the  getting  together  of  our 
home,  the  buying  of  a  suite  for  the  dining-room,  the 
important  decision  as  to  whether  the  bedroom  should 
be  pink  or  blue — the  lingering  over  rugs  and  carpets, 
the  picking  out  of  a  comfortable  chair  for  Eddie,  in 
which  he  could  smoke  after  dinner  as  we  sat  around 
the  fire.  Fire!  I  couldn't  even  see  a  fire-place, — the 
buying  of  pepper  boxes,  mustard  pots,  frying  pans, 
spoons  and  forks,  all  the  funny  little  things  which 

[139] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


would  be  part  of  our  lives  and  an  intimate  part  because 
of  the  thought  and  care  with  which  they  had  gradually 
been  selected  and  bought.  The  thought  and  care  and 
love  which  go  to  make  a  home !  And  instead  a  made 
home  which  I  had  not  even  helped  to  choose,  finished  to 
the  last  tack,  the  last  picture. 

I  heard  Mr.  Boynton's  voice  as  though  from  a  dis- 
tance— 

"  We  thought  it  would  be  fine  to  have  it  all  ready 
and  save  you  all  the  trouble." 

I  found  my  lips  trembling  and  with  a  tremendous 
effort  I  tried  to  think  only  of  their  kindness,  tried  to 
make  my  mind  blank  over  my  intense  disappointment 
so  that  it  might  not  overflow  and  spoil  this  home- 
coming. They  were  so  proud,  my  husband  was  de- 
lighted. I  realised  their  generosity  but  the  sense  of 
finality  which  is  so  desolating  overcame  my  resolu- 
tion— my  home  was  made,  nothing  could  undo  it,  my 
dreams  were  smashed  for  ever — a  sob  rose,  then  an- 
other and  another  and  I  was  weeping  audibly  over  the 
polished  table. 

Eddie  led  me  into  the  bedroom  and  patting  my 
shoulder  he  tried  to  soothe  me — "  There,  there, 
you're  all  in.  It's  mighty  nice  of  them,  isn't 
it?" 

So  he  thought  that  was  the  reason — thank  heaven. 
Not  for  worlds  would  I  undeceive  him  or  seem  un- 
grateful for  their  kind  thought  and  soon  I  was  able 
to  dry  my  eyes  and  thank  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boynton  for 
their  lovely  present.  A  few  minutes  after  a  trim  maid 

1  140  ] 


Marriage 

served  luncheon  to  us — even  my  servant  had  been 
chosen ! 

"  Eddie,"  I  said  when  they  had  gone,  "  wouldn't  it 
have  been  possible  to  get  a  little  house  with  a  little 
garden?  " 

"  Gee,  not  in  New  York,"  he  answered  laughing, 
"  not  unless  I  were  almost  a  millionaire  which  I'm  not, 
worse  luck.  Such  things  are  luxuries  in  New  York." 

"  But  why  must  it  be  in  New  York?  " 

"  Because  I  have  to  be  on  the  spot,  it  takes  too  long 
to  get  in  from  the  suburbs." 

"  I  see.  I'm  afraid  I'll  never  get  used  to  living  so 
near  heaven,  and  I  will  miss  the  garden  at  home." 

"  I'll  buy  you  lots  of  flowers." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  them,  but  of  the 
pottering  about  and  digging  and  growing  things,  in 
my  little  plot." 

"  You  shall  have  another  some  day,"  he  said  confi- 
dently. 

As  we  were  spending  the  first  evening  in  our  new 
home,  it  again  occurred  to  me  that  I  did  not  know 
how  much  we  had  to  spend,  nor  how  much  my  hus- 
band earned ;  my  dreamy  mind  had  been  only  too 
willing  to  put  such  mundane  matters  out  of  the  happi- 
ness of  our  honeymoon.  Now  they  must  be  faced,  yet 
I  wished  he  would  make  an  opening  for  it  seemed  such 
a  personal  matter  to  question  him  about! 

"  Eddie,"  I  broke  out  after  fidgetting  for  some  time, 
"  is  your  father  very  rich?  " 

"Rich,  I  should  say  not.     In  fact,  just  at  pres- 

[141] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


ent  I  guess  he'd  probably  say  he  was  a  bit  short.  For 
my  college  career  and  travel  cost  a  heap  and  then 
Maisie's  marriage  must  have  run  away  with  the 

dollars,  and  besides "  He  stopped  abruptly  and 

glanced  at  me. 

"  Besides " 

"  Oh  nothing." 

"  But  you  must  have  spent  an  awful  lot  when  we 
were  in  London,  at  that  grand  hotel,  and  then  coming 
over.  You're  always  so — so  generous." 

He  whistled — "  Some  was  borrowed  and  some  was 
lent,  a  little  was  saved,  but  all  was  spent.  But  we 
had  a  good  time  though,  didn't  we?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  you  borrowed  some  of  that  money 
— that  we  have  nothing — saved?  "  I  asked  startled  by 
the  idea. 

"  Saved !  "  he  grimaced.  "  We  don't  make  money  to 
save  it,  we  make  it  to  spend.  We're  mighty  good 
spenders  and  I  guess  we  like  the  best  of  everything. 
And  Dad's  always  ready  with  a  helping  hand,  he  knows 
I'll  make  good." 

"  I  thought  we  must  have  lots  of  money,"  I  said 
soberly. 

"  No,  but  I  hope  we  can  jog  along.  Dad's  giving  me 
$3,000  now.  He's  been  dandy  to  me  and  soon  I  hope 
I'll  be  earning  more.  I  make  a  bit  now  and  then  on 
the  market — had  a  grand  splurge  before  I  went  over 
for  you,  and  now  I'm  sure  to  be  even  luckier.  Don't 
you  think  we  can  manage?  "  he  asked  smiling. 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea."  I  was  relieved  at  his 
[  142  ] 


Marriage 

frankness,  but  still  thinking  of  the  expenditure  of  a 
sum  of  money  which  my  training  demanded  as  a  sav- 
ing for  a  rainy  day.  "  I  don't  know  what  things  cost 
here." 

"  A  darned  sight  too  much  for  a  husband's  peace  of 
mind.  But  I'm  on  the  watch  for  a  big  job,  I  can 
tell  you,  then " 

I  started — "  Do  you  mean  you  would  leave  your 
father?" 

"  Sure,  when  the  right  opening  comes !  " 

"But  I  thought  you  couldn't  leave  him?"  The 
words  slipped  out  as  I  remembered  that  was  part  of 
the  reason  he  gave  for  not  living  in  Sunnydale.  At 
the  time  I  had  hugged  it  to  me  as  the  chief  part,  for 
the  feeling  that  it  was  fine  and  right  of  him  to  want 
to  remain  with  his  father  made  up  for  the  little  hurt 
to  my  pride  that  he  wouldn't  make  the  sacrifice  I 
wanted. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  couldn't  have  left  him  altogether 
alone.  But  he  wouldn't  want  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
my  getting  a  big  job  and  making  good,  he's  not  like 
your  old  smith."  His  voice  was  casual;  he  did  not 
realise  how  important  it  was !  For  it  was  the  first  time 
since  he  had  refused  to  live  in  Sunnydale  that  I  had 
questioned  his  decision.  Pride  raised  its  head  again — 
so  his  father  had  only  been  an  excuse.  Again  the  an- 
tagonistic critical  woman  obscured  the  pliable  one,  who 
had  been  so  easy  to  soothe — deceive. 

But  as  he  came  over  to  my  chair  with  a  whispered, 

"  Isn't  it  bully  being  alone  together  in  our  own 

[143] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


home !  "  his  hands  slipped  down  over  my  shoulders, 
holding  me  tightly,  and  thought  passed  into  sen- 
sation. 

Nevertheless  out  of  the  emotion  of  happiness,  the 
faint  shadow  of  his  confession  emerged,  lingering  in 
the  background,  unobtrusive,  but  alive. 

"  Well,  old  lady,"  said  Eddie  next  morning  at  break- 
fast, "  I'll  have  to  get  back  on  my  job  again.  I  hope 
you  won't  be  lonely." 

"  No,"  I  smiled,  "  I'm  going  to  inspect  every  nook 
and  corner  and  see  just  what  we  possess." 

In  the  middle  of  the  inspection  I  heard  a  jovial 
voice  and  Mrs.  Boynton  came  in.  "  I  thought  you 
might  be  feeling  strange,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "  so  I 
came  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything." 

"  You're  very  kind,  but  I  think  there  isn't  a  thing, 
you  had  everything  so  spic  and  span." 

I  tried  to  make  my  voice  cordial,  but  perhaps  it  was 
a  failure  for  she  went  on  confidentially, 

"  Don't  think  I'm  going  to  snoop  around  or  act  the 
heavy  mother.  I  believe  in  leaving  young  people  to 
work  out  their  own  life's  history.  But  you  being  a 
stranger — well,  I  didn't  want  you  to  feel  kind  of  lone- 
some. But  if  there's  nothing,  guess  I'll  beat  it." 

And  then  I  knew  from  whom  Eddie  inherited  his 
quick  power  of  reading  thoughts,  for  with  a  laugh 
which  pealed  out  in  sheer  merriment,  she  went  on,  "  I 
can  see  you're  thinking  I'm  the  limit,  the  way  I  talk! 
It's  that  Eddie,  he  uses  all  this  slang  and  I  copy  it,  just 
can't  help  it.  I'm  a  regular  mimic,  I  am.  But  you'll 

[144] 


Marriage 

get  used  to  me  in  time.     And  I  hope  we'll  be  real 
friends." 

Against  my  instinct  of  reserve,  almost  against  my 
will,  something  behind  her  merry  eyes  and  kindly 
smile  appealed  to  me — "  I  hope  we  will,"  I  answered 
shyly  but  with  complete  sincerity. 


[1451 


BOOK  FOUR:  THE  NEW  COUNTRY 


BOOK  FOUR:   THE  NEW  COUNTRY 

Chapter  One 

MY  first  week  in  New  York  City  was  a  maze  of 
new  experiences  in  which  I  tried  to  accustom 
myself  to  strange  sensations.  Perhaps  the  chief  of 
them  was  that  "  going  home  "  meant  stepping  into  a 
lift  (or  elevator  as  I  learned  to  call  it)  and  being  shot 
up  towards  the  skies;  I  hoped  it  was  a  good  omen! 
Another  was  the  inward  tremor  I  felt  when  my  tram- 
car  (which  I  found  hidden  under  the  alias  of  trolley) 
gaily  proceeded  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction  to 
that  I  expected  it  to  take.  It  was  only  after  several 
such  unfortunate  experiences  that  my  dreamy  mind 
endurably  grasped  the  fact  that  traffic  ran  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  street  instead  of  on  the  left.  There 
were  also  many  new  delights  such  as  cold  drinks  and 
ice  boxes  and  a  climate  which  was  sufficiently  certain 
of  its  intentions  to  make  the  formerly  inevitable  pres- 
ence of  an  umbrella  unnecessary,  even  insulting. 

The  proud  confidence  of  the  tall  slim  buildings 
filled  me  with  admiration,  so  did  the  amazing  blue- 
ness  of  the  sky  and  the  vividness  of  the  sunshine.  No 
wonder  Eddie  had  teased  me  that  we  did  not  know 
what  sunshine  was,  for  over  here  Mr.  Sun  was  a  dif- 

C  149  ] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


ferent  being;  he  shone  confidently,  dazzlingly,  as  if  he 
meant  it,  in  violent  contrast  to  the  dignity  of  his  oc- 
casional appearance  and  the  reserved  nature  of  his  ef- 
forts on  the  other  side. 

A  few  days  after  our  arrival  the  Boyntons  gave  a 
dinner  party  in  our  honour.  Besides  Eddie  and  I,  the 
guests  included  Maisie  and  her  husband,  Clarrie,  who 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  family  pet,  two  other  young 
couples  and  two  unattached  men  and  girls.  Ap- 
p^rently  everybody  knew  each  other  very  well,  I  was 
the  only  stranger. 

Almost  as  soon  as  we  sat  down,  I  was  conscious  that 
behind  Mrs.  Boynton's  smile  there  was  some  purpose, 
she  seemed  to  be  waiting — for  what?  In  a  lull  in  the 
merriment,  she  rapped  the  table. 

"  Now,  folks,  I  want  you  to  drink  the  healths  of  my 
Eddie  and  his  cute  little  English  bride.  Very  proud 
of  him,  I  am  and  her  too,  for  she  gave  up  being  a  fine 
lady — was  it  a  Duchess,  Ed  ? — all  to  marry  my  Eddie," 
and  with  a  beaming  face  she  raised  her  glass  and 
nodded  and  smiled  all  round. 

And  every  one  nodded  and  drank  our  healths.  Most 
of  them  were  smiling,  looking  at  me,  I  imagined,  with 
curiosity,  though  Maisie  looked  disapprovingly  at  her 
mother  after  she  had  glanced  hastily  in  my  direction. 

For  my  face  had  crimsoned  with  mortification,  and 
a  quick  distaste  for  her  words  hardened  my  heart 
against  her,  even  tarnishing  for  the  moment  my  feel- 
ing for  Eddie,  because  she  was  his  mother.  Beyond 
distaste  was  a  feeling  that  in  listening  to  them  with- 

[ISO] 


The  New  Country 


out  protest,  I  was  disloyal  to  Sir  Mark,  tolerating  the 
contempt  for  him  which  they  seemed  to  suggest  even 
though  no  one  knew  his  name.  But  I  was  too  shy  to 
make  a  remark  which  might  have  smoothed  the  situa- 
tion and  as  I  sat  helpless  and  indignant,  Eddie  caught 
my  look.  I  could  see  that  he  too 'was  embarrassed  for, 
with  a  half-impatient  "  There,  there,  Mother,  that's 
enough  about  us,  let's  get  on  with  the  eats,"  he  tried 
to  turn  attention  from  me. 

"  That's  all  right,"  she  laughed,  "  but  I'm  proud  of 
you,  Ed,  and  I  don't  mind  folks  knowing  it."  Her 
face  did  indeed  shine  with  an  eager  happy  pride  as  she 
looked  at  her  son,  but  in  that  moment  of  criticism  I 
made  no  excuse  for  her  candour.  Instead  a  picture 
of  my  mother's  face  with  its  beautiful  profile  came  be- 
fore my  eyes  and  for  the  moment  her  cold  dignity  and 
perfect  manners  formed  a  desirable  contrast.  I  forgot 
how  much  I  had  suffered  through  that  same  cold  per- 
fection ! 

The  avoidance  of  the  subject  as  Eddie  and  I  went 
home  threw  a  suspicion  of  constraint  between  us. 
Though  I  appreciated  the  loyalty  to  his  mother  which 
forbade  him  mentioning  it,  I  wanted  him  to  tell  me 
that  he  understood  and  sympathised  with  my  attitude. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  constraint  haunted  my  dreams, 
making  me  restless,  for  I  had  only  just  fallen  into  the 
first  real  sleep  when  I  was  awakened  by  strains  of  the 
latest  ragtime  pouring  into  my  unwilling  ears.  I 
listened  for  a  moment.  My  husband  was  not  only 
whistling  and  singing  in  his  bath,  a  daily  musical  feat, 

[151] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


but  he  had  turned  on  the  gramophone  to  add  to  the 
entertainment.  Hitherto  I  had  never  supposed  that 
any  one  on  this  earth  could  enjoy  hearing  such  a  pene- 
trating sound  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  it 
gave  me  a  feeling  of  resentment  that  there  was  such 
a  being  and  this  my  husband.  His  jocular  youthful- 
ness  first  thing  in  the  morning  emphasised  what  before 
I  had  scarcely  realised — my  temper  was  apt  to  be 
wobbly  so  early  in  the  day! 

When  I  went  to  Mrs.  Boynton's  for  luncheon,  Maisie 
at  once  began  to  talk  about  clothes.  I  soon  gathered 
from  her  manner  that  she  regarded  with  pity  both  my 
dress  at  the  dinner  party  and  the  suit  I  was  wearing, 
each  of  them  the  result  of  the  elaborate  shopping  bout 
in  London  which  had  seemed  to  be  the  height  of 
daring  to  the  prudent  Margaret  Miller.  In  a  moment 
of  expansiveness  she  offered  to  take  me  to  her  woman 
for  an  evening  dress. 

"  Land's  sake !  "  said  Mrs.  Boynton  as  she  heard  of 
the  project,  "  isn't  one  victim  enough  for  you, 
Maisie!  "  Maisie  looked  at  her  coldly,  but  she  went 
on  just  as  affably,  "  I  wear  these  fool  clothes  just  to 
make  her  happy,  but  don't  you  let  her  get  you  going, 
Margaret.  Be  gentle  but  firm !  " 

"  Come  along,  Margaret,"  was  all  Maisie's  retort, 
given  with  the  air  of  a  duchess.  But  as  we  went  out 
I  was  thinking  again  of  Mrs.  Boynton's  good  nature 
and  felt  a  sudden  sympathy  with  the  woman  who  wore 
fashionable  clothes  to  please  her  daughter.  The 
knowledge  dignified  her,  threw  around  her  something 

[152] 


The  New  Country 


of  the  awe  with  which  we  hear  of  a  deed  of  silent 
heroism ! 

I  found  that  "  Madam  "  had  a  "  place  "—it  would 
have  been  an  affront  to  the  beautiful  little  salon  to  call 
it  "  shop  " — not  far  from  Broadway,  where  behind  ex- 
quisite lace  curtains,  she  sold  creations  to  those  who 
could  afford  it,  and  often  to  those  who  could  not. 
Maisie  led  me  to  infer  that  she  considered  she  was 
doing  me  a  kindness  in  even  introducing  me  there. 

A  mass  of  filmy  lace  and  tulle  was  brought  out  for 
our  inspection.  I  gave  it  a  hasty  glance  before  Madam, 
taking  it  away,  said,  "  I'll  have  Miss  Manning  wear  it, 
Mrs.  Whiting." 

Maisie  looked  pleased  and  important,  "  That's  their 
best  mannequin,  Margaret" 

"  Maisie,"  I  said  in  a  hurried  whisper,  "  why  didn't 
she  show  us  the  bodice  ?  " 

"  But  she  did,  it's  all  together." 

"  Oh !  "  And  as  the  mannequin  came  forward,  my 
cheeks  flooded  with  colour.  The  bodice  was  so  minute 
that  I  had  missed  it  altogether!  I  had  a  sinking  of  the 
heart.  I  should  never  have  the  courage  to  wear  such  a 
dress  and  yet  I  lacked  enough  of  it  to  say  so  to  Maisie. 
I  could  imagine  the  little  scornful  lift  of  the  eyebrows 
and  in  the  inevitable  fear  of  being  thought  prudish,  the 
dress  was  bought. 

I  tried  it  on  next  evening.  For  a  long  time  I  could 
not  persuade  myself  to  move  out  of  the  bedroom. 
Finally  clutching  the  wisps  of  chiffon  supporting  the 
— bodice,  I  opened  the  living-room  door. 

[153] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Eddie,"  I  whispered,  "  that  is  Maisie's  idea  of  an 
evening  dress  for  me,  and  I  can't  possibly  wear  it, 
can  I?" 

"  It  does  seem  to  have  a  bit  lacking." 

"  Oh  no,  the  bit  is  there,  all  right,  it's  the  main  part 
which  has  been  forgotten." 

He  laughed,  then  slowly  his  expression  changed,  and 
throwing  down  his  book  he  came  towards  me,  "  You 
look  very  cute  in  it,  anyhow." 

With  a  sudden  hatred  of  the  dress,  I  eluded  his  arms 
and  back  in  my  room  rammed  it  into  the  box.  Next 
day  I  had  the  unpleasant  task  of  telling  Madam  that  I 
had  decided  that  the  dress  did  not  suit  me  after  all, 
and  exchanging  it  for  a  pretty  one  of  grey,  a  good  deal 
more  modish  than  any  I  had,  but  not  so  extreme  as 
the  other.  When  I  learned  the  cost  of  this  simple 
dress,  I  thought  how  lucky  it  was  that  I  had  taken  the 
more  elaborate  model  back. 

This  question  of  cost  was  an  increasing  anxiety,  for 
as  I  began  to  try  and  tot  up  bills  for  housekeeping,  I 
realised  how  entirely  ignorant  I  was  of  the  value  of 
money.  I  had  had  a  small  allowance  for  pocket 
money,  but  all  my  clothes  had  been  bought  for  me 
and  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  how  far  the  dollars 
would  go.  That  I  was  not  at  first  extravagant  in  the 
matter  of  clothes  was  simply  due  to  my  limited  idea 
of  their  importance,  but  the  housekeeping  which  had 
all  the  interest  of  a  new  thing  was  so  much  in  my 
mind  that  I  was  always  buying  things  which  would 
do,  without  regard  to  necessity,  ordering  anything  and 

[154] 


The  New  Country 


everything  to  eat  which  came  into  my  mind,  and  never 
thinking  of  cost  or  season.  Consequently  the  extent 
of  the  bills  alarmed  me. 

"  Eddie,"  I  said  one  night,  "  am  I  spending  too  much 
money?  I  couldn't  have  believed  that  two  people 
would  cost  so  much  to  feed.  I'm  afraid  it's  because  I 
can't  remember  when  things  are  '  luxuries  '  and  when 
they  are  just  '  food.' ' 

But  he  answered  casually,  "  Oh,  you  are  doing  fine, 
and  I'll  soon  be  making  more  money." 

He  adopted  the  same  attitude  towards  my  clothes. 
After  my  experience  with  Madam  I  went  to  the  stores 
for  the  next  things  I  wanted,  but  even  then  I  was 
astounded  by  the  prices.  I  was  sure  that  my  mother's 
dresses,  which  Sunnydale  considered  unusually  smart 
and  lavish  did  not  cost  anything  like  what  I  paid  for 
two  or  three  simple  little  things.  But  when  I  told 
Eddie  what  I  had  spent,  he  laughed, 

"  Don't  you  worry  too  much  about  cost.  You  know 
I  want  you  to  look  real  smart,"  and  aided  and  abetted 
by  Maisie's  notions,  I  soon  let  price  subside  into  the 
background.  And  with  an  account  at  one  of  the  big 
stores  which  did  away  with  that  most  controlling 
factor  of  "  spot  cash,"  cost  became  of  less  and  less 
importance — whether  I  wanted  a  thing  was  all  that 
mattered. 

It  perhaps  did  not  matter  to  Maisie's  husband  that 
she  was  extravagant.  He  was  on  the  Stock  Exchange 
and  Eddie  told  me  he  was  making  pots  of  money — 
certainly  Maisie  ran  him  a  close  second  in  the  matter 

[155] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


of  spending.  They  had  a  smart  apartment  and  a  com- 
fortable little  sedan  which  she  operated  among  the 
traffic  with  a  skill  which  continually  surprised  me. 

Jack  Whiting  was  nice  and  young  and  alert-looking, 
curiously  like  my  husband  in  general  appearance 
though  he  was  some  years  older, — tall,  slim,  fair  and 
immaculately  dressed.  I  confessed  later,  to  Maisie's 
overwhelming  amusement,  that  his  appearance  was  so 
perfect,  I  had  thought  he  must  have  something  to  do 
with  "  clothes."  His  manners  too  were  just  as  per- 
fect, both  he  and  Eddie  having  the  same  charming 
courtesy  of  bearing  towards  our  sex,  both  of  them,  as 
I  thought,  appearing  to  be  much  better  bred  than 
Maisie.  Was  it  the  college  education  which  gave  them 
so  much  finish,  or  did  her  manners  suffer  in  conse- 
quence of  her  attitude  of  accepting  everything  in  the 
world  as  her  rightful  happiness  and  convenience,  an 
attitude  which  lacked  the  womanly  charm  of  little  acts 
of  grace,  of  unselfish  thought  for  others'  comfort? 
Eddie  had  perfectly  fitted  into  our  life  at  Sunnydale, 
but  I  could  not  so  picture  Maisie  with  her  tinted  cheeks, 
her  smart  clothes,  her  assurance  and  air  of  worldliness. 

Whenever  the  two  men  met  their  whole  conversation 
seemed  to  be  about  the  state  of  the  Market  and  moods 
depended  so  much  on  this  vague  and  illusive  thing 
that  I  called  it  "  Eddie's  barometer."  When  I  learned 
a  little  more  about  this  Market  I  realised  that  a  good 
many  of  his  investments  were  in  the  nature  of  specu- 
lations and  that  he  set  great  store  by  the  tips  which 
came  from  Jack  Whiting.  Further,  that  several  hours 

[156] 


The  New  Country 


of  the  day  when  he  should  have  been  at  the  office  were 
spent  with  Whiting  and  that  in  consequence  he  often 
had  to  work  late  at  his  legitimate  business.  There 
were  many  evenings  when  he  was  not  home  for  dinner, 
or  when  after  a  hasty  meal  he  was  again  swallowed  up 
by  the  thing  of  which  I  began  to  know  a  vague  jealousy 
— "  Business." 


'[157] 


Chapter  Two 

MY  first  month  in  New  York  consisted  of  a  round 
of  gaieties  and  invitations  which  warmed  my 
heart  to  the  people  who  were  thus  so  hospitable,  and  I 
wanted  to  show  them  that  I  appreciated  it.  "  Eddie," 
I  said  one  evening,  "  I've  met  a  lot  of  people  at  your 
mother's  flat,  and  every  one  has  been  awfully  nice  and 
included  me  in  invites  to  Maisie,  even  if  I'd  only  just 
met  them — isn't  it  time  we  did  some  entertaining?  " 

"  Go  ahead  and  fix  the  party — I'm  on." 

"  Let's  have  a  dinner  on  Christmas  eve.  I'll  ask 
your  mother  and  father,  and  Maisie  and  Jack  and " 

"  The  Martins,  and  Anna  and  Clarrie,  then  there's 
the  Stones,  and " 

"  Whoa !  How  many  do  you  think  we  can  dine  in 
our  large  domain!"  I  said  laughing.  "The  others 
will  have  to  come  in  after  dinner,  for  music,  or  bridge 
or  something." 

"  All  right,  that  suits  me." 

I  still  felt  rather  shy  and  "  countrified  "  among  the 
smart  girls  and  young  matrons  I  met  at  the  bridge 
parties  and  chic  little  luncheons,  dinners  and  suppers, 
and  so  I  was  very  anxious  that  our  first  party  should 
be  a  great  success  and  plunged  into  the  catering  with  a 

[158] 


The  New  Country 


lavish  hand.  My  maid  was  a  very  good  cook  and  I 
was  comfortably  content  that  she  would  do  her  part 
well — as  I  remarked  when  I  first  learned  her  wages, 
"  She  certainly  ought  to  do  anything  well  at  such  a 
price !  " 

She  was  so  entirely  competent  and  self-reliant  that 
I  was  timid  about  suggesting  things  to  her,  and  per- 
haps it  was  this  which  paved  the  way  for  what  hap- 
pened, but  on  the  very  morning  of  my  party  there  was 
a  clash ! — a  command  on  my  part,  an  irate  expression 
of  opinion  on  hers,  an  answering  temper  from  me — 
and  I  was  left  breathless  and  indignant,  facing  a 
slammed  door.  She  had  gone! 

And  eight  people  were  coming  to  dinner,  and — and 
I  did  not  know  how  to  cook!  I  cursed  my  expensive 
education  which  had  neglected  this  important  detail. 
The  two  facts  revolved  in  my  mind  till  in  a  panic  I 
'phoned  to  Eddie. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  happened,"  I  said  breath- 
lessly, "  or  what  terrible  thing  I  said  to  her,  but — but 
Hannah  has  gone,  walked  out  in  a  rage !  " 

He  whistled — "  Phew !  And  the  dinner  party  to- 
night!" 

"Yes.    Whatever  shall  I  do?" 

"  I'll  ask  mother  to  give  you  a  helping  hand.  She's 
a  fine  cook  and  she'll  do  it  like  the  darling  she  is." 

I  hated  to  expose  my  ignorance  to  Eddie's  mother, 
but  there  was  no  other  way — there  was  no  time  to  go 
out  and  look  for  a  cook  even  if  I  had  known  where 
to  go. 

[159] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Mrs.  Boynton  arrived  soon  after,  smiling  and  good- 
natured.  "Well,  well,  so  Hannah's  gone!  Ain't  she 
the  limit,  going  just  when  you  want  her!  We'll  have 
to  step  lively  to  get  things  ready  in  time,  you  can  do 
the  dessert,  while  I  fix  the  trimmings  for  the  roast." 

I  had  chosen  the  dessert  out  of  the  cookery  book ;  it 
had  an  elaborate  name  and  a  still  more  elaborate  mix- 
ture. What  would  happen  to  it,  if  I  meddled  with 
these  unknown  quantities  ?  There  was  nothing  else  but 
confession.  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once,  I  don't 
know  how  to  cook,"  I  said  with  a  touch  of  defiance. 

She  looked  at  me  in  amazement,  then  with  her 
ready  smile,  "Now  isn't  that  a  nice  pancake!  Still 
we'll  have  to  do.  Perhaps  you'll  fix  the  table  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can  do  all  that." 

"  Fine,  get  about  it  then." 

As  I  passed  in  and  out  of  the  tiny  kitchen — like  a 
box  compared  to  the  huge  room  at  home  with  its  rows 
of  shining  pans  and  gleaming  fireirons  and  huge  range 
— and  saw  Mrs.  Boynton  getting  hotter  and  more 
flushed  as  the  cooking  progressed,  but  always  good- 
natured,  always  ready  with  a  joke,  I  felt  ashamed  of 
my  secret  criticism  of  her  effusive  manner.  Here  she 
was  doing  the  cooking  I  ought  to  have  been  able  to  do 
and  apparently  not  even  resenting  it. 

"  Doesn't  the  idea  of  having  to  cook  a  dinner  for  all 
these  people  make  you  nervous?"  I  asked  suddenly, 
envying  her  calm  competence. 

She  laughed — "  Land's  sake,  no !  Why,  I  could 
almost  cook  in  my  sleep.  Now  if  you  asked  me  to 
[160] 


The  New  Country 


meet  a  crowd  of  strangers  why  it'd  be  different — 
almost  as  bad  as  meeting  you  eh,  Margaret?"  she 
added  chuckling. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  were  nervous  then?  " 

"  I  sure  do.  I  was  just  scared  stiff  of  you  and  you 
looked  so  haughty  and  yet  I  wanted  you  to  know  you 
were  welcome,  coming  so  far,  to  a  strange  country, 
but  I  was  all  of  a  tremble  inside." 

I  looked  at  her  flushed  face  and  a  sudden  impulse 
made  me  bend  and  kiss  her  cheek.  "  Thank  you,"  I 
said  quietly. 

And  in  a  humbled  frame  of  mind,  I  did  her  bidding. 

As  the  time  for  the  party  approached  my  spirits 
sank  lower  and  lower.  It  seemed  that  it  must  be  a 
failure,  there  would  be  no  one  to  wait  upon  us  and 
everything  would  be  in  a  muddle.  But  when  the  guests 
arrived,  they  apparently  looked  upon  the  calamity  as  a 
joke ;  every  one  was  willing  to  help.  It  was  more  like 
a  picnic  than  a  dinner  party,  but  the  food  was  de- 
liciously  cooked  and  it  was  eaten  amid  much  laughter 
and  congratulations  for  the  cook.  My  heart  went  out 
to  these  people  who  could  be  so  jolly  and  informal, 
making  the  best  of  a  mishap  and  still  enjoying  them- 
selves. 

When  they  had  gone  and  I  had  thanked  Mrs.  Boyn- 
ton  for  her  help,  Eddie  seized  my  hands  and  as  we  shut 
the  door,  pumped  them  up  and  down  saying  with  his 
boyish  laugh,  "  Well,  lady,  that  was  some  party ! 
Many  more  like  it — but  say,  what  about  breakfast?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  cook  breakfast!  " 

[161] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  You  relieve  an  anxiety  I've  felt  the  whole  eve- 
ning," and  we  both  burst  out  laughing,  like  two  happy 
children  who  were  playing  at  keeping  house. 

Immediately  a  clock  struck  one  and  I  sobered  at  the 
remembrance.  "  Why,  Eddie,  it's  Christmas  Day 
already !  " 

"  Our  first  Christmas  together.  Hope  they'll  all  be 
as  happy."  His  eyes  were  tenderly  solemn  as  he 
turned  and  caught  my  shoulders.  "  You  are  happy?  " 

I  made  no  reservation  as  I  whispered  a  fervent  as- 
sent, for  in  these  moments  of  unity  I  had  no  memory 
of  a  possible  shadow.  I  was  supremely,  utterly  con- 
tent. 

Bright  sunshine  awoke  me  early  in  the  morning  and 
I  lay  and  thought  of  Meadowmere.  It  was  the  first 
Christmas  since  I  could  remember  when  I  had  not  hung 
up  my  stocking  and  the  lapse  of  this  childish  habit — 
which  Tom  had  long  ago  refused  to  countenance,  say- 
ing, "  It  makes  you  look  a  silly  kid !  " — gave  me  a 
feeling  of  regret  for  my  old  home.  No  bulging  stock- 
ing to  inspect  on  Christmas  morning,  I  was  grown  up 
at  last,  I  thought. 

But  as  my  eyes  roamed  round  the  room  they  caught 
sight  of  something  which  made  me  spring  from  bed — 
yes,  it  was  my  stocking  with  a  bulging  toe!  Out  of 
the  bulge  I  drew  a  little  packet  on  which  was  written, 
"  For  my  wife,"  and  as  I  opened  it,  I  caught  my 
breath.  On  a  dark  velvet  bed  lay  an  adorable  pearl 
ring,  a  pearl,  white  and  soft  and  glowing  like  love  as 
I  had  dreamed — Oh,  how  dear  he  was! 
[162] 


The  New  Country 


"  Eddie,"  I  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  wake  up,  wake 
up,  I  want  to  thank  you." 

He  grunted  sleepily — "What's  the  matter?  House 
on  fire?" 

"  No — I — oh,  thank  you!  "  Though  I  could  not 
find  words,  he  could  read  the  depth  of  my  delight  in 
my  face  and  voice. 

"Like  it?"  he  asked  with  that  soft  smile  which 
thrilled  me  because  it  came  so  seldom. 

"  I  love  it !  "  And  bending  down  I  put  my  face 
against  his  rumpled  hair. 

The  memory  of  those  early  morning  hours  was  with 
me  all  through  the  day  which  we  spent  at  the  Boyn- 
tons,  making  me  happier  than  I  had  ever  thought  I 
could  have  been  on  this  first  Christmas  Day  away  from 
Sunnydale.  I  found  myself  tenderly  watching  Eddie's 
devotion  to  his  mother.  He  was  so  charming  to  her, 
and  she  was  so  unashamedly  proud  of  him  that  I  won- 
dered she  was  not  more  critical  of  the  foreign  wife 
he  had  chosen,  that  instead  she  should  seem  so  willing 
to  give  her  a  share  in  this  affection. 

Next  day  came  the  Christmas  mail  from  England. 
There  were  letters  and  packets  from  home.  Sir  Mark 
sent  some  photographs  of  Sunnydale  taken  in  the 
snow;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Haselton  had  remem- 
bered to  send  us  greeting,  to  my  surprise,  and  there 
was  a  letter  from  Torn.  He  was  getting  on  famously, 
had  started  with  navvy  work  for  a  big  building  con- 
tractor, then  had  gone  into  the  office;  now  he  wrote 
hopefully  of  being  made  works  manager.  He  had  paid 

[163] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


the  first  instalment  of  his  debt  to  Sir  Mark  and  hoped 
to  go  straight  on  with  the  others  till  he  was  free. 
How  splendid!  Then  I  smiled  half  sadly  at  the 
thought  of  the  lordly  Tom  taking  pleasure  in  hard 
work.  After  all  what  had  happened  was  turning  out 
to  be  for  the  best  and  it  made  me  glad  that  he  was 
atoning  for  the  past.  Yet  gladness  faded  as  I  thought 
of  Nancy.  How  was  she  readjusting  her  life? 

The  last  thing  I  opened  was  a  report  about  my  cot- 
tages from  Sir  Mark's  bailiff.  They  were  all  let  and 
every  one  was  delighted  with  them. 

For  a  time  the  present  faded  and  as  I  read  Sir 
Mark's  cheery  friendly  letter  again  and  again,  I  was 
back  in  Sunnydale.  He  had  resumed  the  old  friend- 
ship, just  like  my  schooldays  when  he  wrote  me  nice 
long  letters  and  sent  me  chocolates  on  my  birthday. 

A  sudden  longing  for  a  sight  of  Meadowmere,  for 
the  full  peaceful  view  from  the  hill-top,  serene  and 
secure  even  under  the  grey  winter  sky,  brought  the 
tears  to  my  eyes.  How  glorious  it  would  be  if  we 
could  go  there,  if  one  day  it  should  again  be  my  home. 


Chapter  Three 


AS  the  weeks  lengthened  into  months,  I  began  to 
realise  that  two  entirely  new  factors  were 
thrust  forward  out  of  the  old  perspective — money  and 
clothes.  Of  course  there  had  been  bad  times  in 
Sunnydale  and  then  from  the  Hall  or  the  squire  or 
the  vicar,  or  wealthy  old  Mrs.  Dale,  rescue  came  and 
coal  or  food  was  sent  to  the  villagers  to  tide  over  the 
distress.  In  our  own  circle  people  lived  comfortably, 
apparently  able  to  buy  everything  which  was  needed, 
but  without  any  display  of  luxury. 

In  our  quiet  little  village,  money  as  the  momentous 
factor  had  been  tastefully  kept  out  of  sight,  status  be- 
ing more  important  than  wealth  or  poverty.  The  vicar 
happened  to  be  rich,  but  a  poor  man  would  have  been 
regarded  in  exactly  the  same  way — he  was  the  vicar, 
he  had  a  definite  social  standing.  The  doctor  and  his 
family  happened  to  be  poor,  but  that  made  no  dif- 
ference to  the  regard  in  which  they  were  held;  if  they 
had  been  rich,  they  would  still  have  been  the  doctor's 
family.  If  Sir  Mark  had  lost  most  of  his  wealth,  and 
dwelt  in  poverty  at  the  Hall,  the  esteem  in  which  he 
was  held  would  not  have  been  lowered.  If  my  mother 
or  I  had  continually  appeared  in  new  dresses  at  each 

[  165  ] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


garden  or  tennis  or  dinner  party,  it  would  not  have 
made  an  atom  of  difference  in  the  regard  of  our  neigh- 
bours— yes,  I  am  wrong,  it  would  have  adversely  af- 
fected their  regard,  for  they  would  have  considered  us 
wasteful  and  unnecessarily  extravagant.  What  matter 
if  my  dress  were  of  cotton  or  silk,  of  tp-day's  fashion 
or  made  over  from  last  summer?  Every  one  knew  me 
as  the  daughter  of  Squire  Miller,  and  if  Nancy  had 
been  decked  out  by  Worth  or  Paquin,  would  she  not 
still  have  been  the  daughter  of  a  gardener? 

But  in  this  new  crowded  panorama,  life  was  more 
variegated,  for  few  were  tagged  with  a  recognisable 
label.  In  the  streets  I  might  be  rubbing  shoulders  with 
a  millionaire's  wife  or  a  shopgirl,  with  an  old  family, 
or  one  of  the  latest  minute.  I  soon  gathered  that  the 
people  I  knew  were  distinctly  of  the  latter  group — like 
Eddie's  father,  the  men  were  self-made,  had  attained 
the  money  and  powers  they  possessed  by  their  own 
efforts,  in  several  cases  were  obviously  of  recent  for- 
eign extraction.  And  thus  I  suppose  if  Maisie,  as 
Jack's  wife,  had  worn  a  dress  which  was  out  of  fash- 
ion, or  made  of  cotton  when  it  should  have  been  of 
silk,  up  would  go  eyebrows  and  a  whisper  would  carry 
on  the  wind — "  Business  bad !  "  Was  this  the  reason 
that  our  gay  set  spent  money  with  a  lavishness  which 
to  me  was  staggering,  disbursing  sums  for  an  evening's 
pleasure,  or  a  new  dress,  or  a  sudden  whim  which 
would  have  kept  a  villager's  family  at  home  for  sev- 
eral weeks?  In  vain  I  argued  with  myself  that  my 
standards  were  of  the  simplest  kind,  that  Sunnydale 


The  Nev/  Country 


was  a  quiet  village,  not  comparable  for  instance  to  the 
standards  of  London,  I  could  not  get  over  my  surprise 
at  the  prevalence  of  the  ever  open  wallet  with  its  ample 
contents. 

Yet  it  could  not  be  the  actual  love  of  money  which 
kept  their  thoughts  so  continuously  on  the  making  of 
it;  they  spent  too  lavishly  for  that.  Most  certainly 
Eddie  had  no  touch  of  a  mercenary  spirit,  had  made 
no  inquiries  about  the  value  of  my  cottages,  nor  of  the 
possibilities  of  Meadowmere  as  a  monetary  prospect. 
Was  it  that  money  represented  the  height  to  which  they 
had  climbed  on  the  ladder  of  success  and  power — that 
if  they  spent  much  they  were  successful  and  had  made 
good — that  if  a  thing  cost  a  great  deal,  it  must  be 
valuable — was  this  their  creed? 

I  realised  with  dismay  the  tremendous  importance 
which  Eddie  attached  to  this  material  success  one  day 
after  a  bridge  party  at  Maisie's,  where  I  met  a  woman 
of  an  entirely  different  type  to  her  usual  crowd. 

I  was  sitting  in  a  corner,  watching  the  gaily  dressed 
girls,  still  rather  shy  amid  their  smartness,  when  a 
woman  who  was  probably  thirty-five  came  and  sat  by 
me.  I  noticed  at  once  that  her  suit  was  not  more 
pretentious  than  my  own  early  efforts,  that  her  skin 
was  pale  and  clear  and  guiltless  of  powder,  that  her 
eyes  were  of  a  vivid  eager  blue,  and  her  voice  deep  and 
harmonious  as  she  said, 

"  !  think  you  and  I  ought  to  weep  together.  I  under- 
stand we  had  the  lowest  scores." 

She  suggested  an  intelligence  and  forcefulness  so 

[167] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


much  at  variance  with  the  usual  flutter-brained  crowd 
that  I  wondered  momentarily  what  she  was  doing  there. 
"  I'm  the  poorest  kind  of  bridge  player,"  I  answered 

smiling,   "  but  you "     I  hesitated,  then  finished 

boldly,  "you  look  as  though  you  could  play  a  good 
game." 

She  laughed  charmingly.  "  I  am  afraid  my  thoughts 
are  more  taken  up  with  the  players  than  with  the  cards. 
Human  beings  interest  me  so  much.  It's  just  as  well, 
as  their  study  is  my  living." 

That  I  did  not  understand  was  probably  evident,  for 
she  added,  "  I'm  a  writer." 

Comprehension  flashed  upon  me.  I  had  come  in  so 
late  that  I  had  only  been  introduced  to  the  people  at 
my  table  but  I  knew  that  this  was  "  the  lion  "  which 
Maisie  had  caged  for  her  afternoon  party.  This 
quietly  dressed  woman  was  Mary  Harden!  I  bowed 
before  the  success  she  had  attained,  before  her  repu- 
tation for  honest  opinion,  for  clever  writing,  for  keen 
investigation  into  bad  conditions.  I  did  not  know 
much  about  the  literary  world,  but  she  was  a  woman 
who  had  brought  herself  into  such  popular  notice  that 
her  fame  had  spread  even  amid  the  vapid  and  pleasure- 
loving. 

I  was  too  stricken  by  the  knowledge  of  her  powers 
to  make  any  sensible  reply  to  her  remark  and  she  went 
on,  "  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  for  I  hear  you  are  Eng- 
lish and  I've  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  over  there. 
Further,  I've  a  sister  living  in  London." 

I  suppose  the  sudden  delight  with  which  I  heard  her 
[168] 


The  New  Country 


must  have  altered  my  whole  manner  for  as  I  exclaimed 
eagerly,  "  How  jolly  to  meet  some  one  who  can  talk 
about  home!  "  her  face  softened. 

"  Why,  you're  not  homesick?  " 

Some  sympathy  underlying  her  half-jocular  intona- 
tion loosened  my  restraint,  and  the  complete  candour 
which  I  had  scarcely  allowed  my  thoughts  was  in  my 
whispered,  "  I  am,  desperately,  sometimes !  "  I  bit 
my  lip  to  hide  its  quivering. 

She  leaned  towards  me  as  she  said  eagerly,  "  You 
poor  child !  We  must  meet  again  and  have  a  good  talk 
about  the  places  we  both  know.  I'll  'phone  you  in  a 
few  days  before  I  go  to  the  country.  I'm  spending  the 
summer  in  the  Adirondacks." 

"  I  don't  know  where  they  are,  but  if  they're  country 
then  I  wish  I  were  coming  too." 

"  They're  mountains.  You'd  probably  be  bored  to 
death,  for  I'm  going  to  the  real  country,  camping  in 
complete  solitude,  with  only  the  trees,  the  peace,  the 
wonderful  changing  colours " 

"How  I'd  love  it!" 

"  It's  the  real  country,  not  the  fashionable  hotel  to 
which  Mrs.  Whiting  and  her  friends  will  throng  at  the 
fashionable  time,  to  live  the  same  gay  life  as  they  do 
here — poor  children." 

Underneath  my  longing  for  the  vision  she  had 
opened,  was  surprise  at  the  sympathy  in  her  tone. 
"  Why  poor  ?  They  have  all  they  want." 

"  Perhaps  it's  the  quality  of  the  '  all '  which  makes 
me  sigh !  "  And  then  with  the  skill  of  an  artist  she 

[169] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


carried  me  away  from  the  walls  of  the  apartment  into 
the  country  which  she  knew.  She  loved  it  as  I  did. 
As  she  stopped  I  awoke  from  the  spell  to  find  Maisie 
fluttering  over  her  lion  and  our  conversation  ended. 
But  before  I  left  I  managed  to  ask  her  if  she  couldn't 
come  and  have  tea  with  me  before  she  went  away — "  I 
can't  wait  until  you  come  back,"  I  added,  smiling 
shyly. 

Her  eyes  twinkled.  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  /  or  the 
promised  subject  which  is  the  reason  for  the  urgency!  " 
And  as  somewhat  confusedly  I  joined  in  her  laugh- 
ter, she  added,  "  On  Thursday  then,  I'll  be  delighted." 

I  went  home  with  a  new  interest,  explaining  to 
Eddie  that  I'd  found  a  real  woman  who  loved  the 
country — "  It's  the  famous  Mary  Harden,  and  she's 
coming  to  tea  with  me  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  You're  growing  to  be  some  hustler,  eh,  Mar- 
garet !  "  he  said  with  his  friendly  smile. 

"  She  says  there's  some  beautiful  country  around 
here,  up  the  Hudson,  and  in  some  mountains  with 
funny  names." 

"  Catskills,  or  Adirondacks  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  'em.  I'd  love  to  see  them.  I  am  afraid 
I  have  been  unconsciously  thinking  of  America  as  a  big 
New  York!  Can't  you  manage  a  holiday  and  take 
me  ?  "  I  asked. 

His  eyebrows  went  up  in  mock  astonishment. 

"  What,  me  take  a  vacation !    Then  I'd  like  to  know 
who  would  be  making  the  money  to  buy  your  new 
hats  and  things? " 
[170] 


The  New  Country 


"  I  don't  want  any  new  hats  or  things  just  now.  If 
you'll  promise  to  come,  I'll  promise  to  do  without  a 
new  hat  for  six  months !  "  I  said  lightly. 

Underneath  the  half-jesting  note  in  our  voices,  there 
was  an  undercurrent  of  something  else,  something  even 
more  than  the  meeting  of  two  wills,  even  more  than 
my  longing  to  see  the  country  and  get  away  from  the 
noise  and  multitude  of  people.  There  was  the  woman's 
desire  for  immediate  assent  to  the  thing  she  asks  which 
proves  her  power  and  renews  her  confidence  in  her 
husband's  love.  My  woman's  pride  demanded  that  he 
should  yield,  hovered  around  with  the  suggestion  that 
it  was  always  I  who  had  given  in  to  him,  was  ready 
with  a  harsh  reminder  of  that  "  excuse  "  with  which  I 
had  so  easily  been  deceived. 

He  burst  out  laughing — "  And  at  the  end  of  the  six 
months  you'd  be  ramming  that  ancient  headgear  into 
the  nearest  garbage  can  with  a  '  well  done,  faithful 
servant ! — now  I  can  live  again ! ' 

"  I  wouldn't — I  don't  want  to  be  just  a  spending 
machine,  anyway.  I  want  to  be  a  companion.  What's 
the  use  of  making  money  just  to  spend  it  on  hats  and 
clothes  and  restaurants — things  that  don't  count,  it's 
such  a  waste.  It  seems  to  me  it's  better  to  make  less, 
and  enjoy  life  more  by  doing  the  things  one  wants 
to  do." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  consider  that  '  restaurants  and 
things '  may  be  the  very  source  from  which  /  draw 
enough  energy  to  go  on  living !  " 

"  Eddie,  do  be  serious,"  I  said,  irritated  by  the  light 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


way  in  which  he  had  taken  my  request,  conscious  of 
the  importance  of  his  consent. 

"  I'm  sorry,  dearie,  but  I  can't  get  away.  Why  don't 
you  go,  though,  get  some  one  to  go  with  you,  this 
Mary  Harden,  for  instance?  " 

"  She  probably  wouldn't  want  me  and  besides  I 
shouldn't  think  of  going  without  you,  I  wouldn't  enjoy 
it  when  I  knew  you  were  alone,  working."  Then  in  a 
whisper  I  added,  leaning  over  his  chair,  "  Wouldn't 
you  like  another  holiday  just  like  that  at  Sunnydale? 
Didn't  you  enjoy  that?  Think  of  the  picnics,  the  rides, 
the  tennis,  the  long  days  in  the  open  air  and  your 
brown  face — do  you  remember  the  day  in  the  rain 
when  we  went  to  see  Martha,  and  that  other  wonder- 
ful day  at  Barnston?  " 

His  eyes  softened  at  the  recollection.  "  It  was 
glorious,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

'  Then  come  away  and  we'll  have  another  holiday 
just  like  it,  just  a  short  one,  a  few  days !  "  I  saw  my 
way  gained. 

His  face  set.  "  It's  impossible,"  he  answered  rather 
shortly,  "  I'd  like  to,  but  I  am  too  busy." 

His  tone  was  definite,  final.  My  deep  disappoint- 
ment at  the  failure  of  the  prospect  for  which  I  longed 
was  buried  underneath  hurt  pride.  I  had  disregarded 
it  sufficiently  to  plead,  to  remind  him  of  old  emotions, 
and  the  only  result  was  a  cold  refusal.  He  had  altered ! 
That  first  flitting  impression  I  had  had  when  he  came 
back  to  Sunnydale  was  right,  he  was  harder.  He  could 
have  come  if  he  had  made  an  effort.  I  looked  upon 

[  172  ]. 


The  New  Country 


him  coldly,  inimically;  the  being  with  whom  I  had 
shared  moments  of  tense  emotion  had  faded  into  a 
stranger,  whose  failings  I  could  criticise  with  detach- 
ment. 

The  shadow  stood  between  us  as  I  went  sullenly 
back  to  my  chair. 

And  then  gradually  through  resentment  a  miserable 
loneliness  began  to  creep  around  me,  an  utter  terri- 
fying forlornness  from  which  his  tenderness  was  the 
only  thing  to  save  me.  Without  it  I  had  nothing;  I 
was  alone  in  the  midst  of  strangers.  This  aching  need 
for  reconciliation  drove  out  pride,  suggesting  the 
softening  thought  that  he  was  proving  he  loved  me  by 
wishing  to  get  on  for  my  sake.  Almost  involuntarily 
I  came  behind  him  and  rubbed  my  face  against  his 
cheek.  The  hard  firm  outline  thrilled  me,  it  was  so 
rough,  so  powerful  and  masculine,  and  as  he  caught 
my  hands  and  drew  them  against  his  mouth,  I  was 
again  content. 

But  the  shadow  of  fear  survived  the  surge  of  emo- 
tion. Suppose  there  should  ever  come  a  time  when  this 
cold  inimical  estrangement  should  be  unconquerable, 
enduring.  Apprehensively,  fearfully,  I  buried  the 
shadow  so  deeply  that  I  thought  it  gone. 


[173] 


Chapter  Four 


WHEN  Mary  Harden  came  into  my  little  apart- 
ment there  seemed  to  enter  with  her  an  atmos- 
phere of  reality,  of  earnestness  and  purpose  leavened 
by  sympathy.  I  found  myself  opening  my  heart  as  I 
talked  of  my  home. 

"  Why  are  you  lonely?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

A  sense  of  loyalty  to  Eddie  made  me  wish  that  I  had 
withheld  the  confession  and  I  tried  to  make  her  under- 
stand the  enormous  change  from  the  small  village 
where  I  had  known  everybody  to  the  huge  city  with 
its  masses  of  people  where  I  felt  I  knew  no  one.  "  I 
suppose  it's  because  I  don't  belong  here,"  I  finished. 

"  But  you  do — your  husband  does.  Why  are  you 
lonely?" 

"  He's  almost  always  busy.  We  go  out  to  dinners 
and  the  theatre  but  that's  with  a  crowd.  He's  often 
late  at  the  office  and  even  on  Saturday  afternoon  he's 
scarcely  ever  free.  If  he's  any  energy  left  by  Sunday, 
somebody  takes  us  to  the  beach  in  their  machine,  or 
Maisie  makes  up  a  party  for  a  restaurant, — it's  always 
with  a  crowd  whom  I  don't  know.  He's  too  busy  to 
go  away  for  a  holiday,  away  from  this  town-life  which 
I  hate,  into  the  country  where  we'd  be  alone  for  a 
change.  It  seems  foolish  to  work  so  hard  just  to  have 

[1741 


The  New  Country 


money  to  spend  on  things  which  don't  matter,  so  hard 
that  there's  no  time  for  a  few  days  of  leisure — but 
they  all  do  it." 

"  Who's  they?  You're  not  judging  the  whole  coun- 
try by  the  mere  handful  of  people  you  have  met  to 
whom  the  money  market  is  the  most  exciting  theatre 
they  know?  " 

I  coloured  in  confusion.  I  had  not  been  conscious 
of  making  any  judgment  for  I  had  sternly  opposed  an 
open  reference  to  new  customs  which  might  savour  of 
criticism  in  the  ears  of  a  native.  Perhaps  that  was  a 
mistake — a  mistake  that  even  to  Eddie  I  had  never 
spoken  openly  on  the  subject,  never  thrashed  out  the 
meaning  of  little  prejudices  and  irritations,  never  tried 
to  solve  the  reason  for  the  differences  in  custom  and 
manner. 

"  I  didn't  know  an  American  till  I  met  my  husband," 
I  said  in  self-defence,  "  and  all  his  friends  seem  to 
have  the  same  overwhelming  interest  in  business.  It's 
human  to  judge  by  what  we  know,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes, — unfortunately.  That's  the  trouble  in  go- 
ing to  a  new  country.  We  meet  some  one  we  don't 
like,  perhaps  several  people  who  rub  us  up  the  wrong 
way.  We  meet  the  same  people  at  home  and  merely 
dismiss  them  as  unpleasant  individuals.  But  in  the 
new  country,  because  unconsciously  we  are  always 
looking  for  contrasts,  they  immediately  become  types, 
and  we  base  our  whole  ideas  of  the  nation  upon  these 
individuals.  I  wish  you  could  come  home  with  me  for 
a  week  end,"  she  added  suddenly,  "and  meet  my 

[175] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


mother.  I  think  you'd  enjoy  our  home,  it's  near  New 
London,  overlooking  the  Sound.  Could  you  come?" 

That  was  always  the  way  with  these  delightfully 
hospitable  people;  if  they  liked  you  on  the  first  im- 
pression they  didn't  wait  to  learn  the  status  of  your 
grandfather,  or  whether  you  might  turn  out  to  be  a 
desirable  acquaintance !  They  accepted  you  at  the  val- 
uation of  that  moment. 

My  decision  not  to  leave  Eddie  struggled  against 
the  enticement  of  that  "  overlooking  the  Sound."  "  I 
think  I  could  manage  a  week  end,"  I  answered  weakly, 
giving  way  to  it — "  It's  awfully  nice  of  you  to  ask  me." 

Eddie  was  delighted  that  I  should  go.  He  was 
always  so  keen  about  my  enjoyment,  providing  it  could 
be  got  without  disturbing  that  powerful  "  Business." 
And  so  Mary  Harden  and  I  set  out  for  her  home  one 
Saturday  afternoon  in  June. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  impression  as  I  entered  its 
cool  peaceful  interior,  to  be  welcomed  by  a  smiling 
woman  with  white  hair  who  strongly  suggested  her 
daughter.  As  we  sat  in  the  wide  sunny  porch  over- 
looking the  waters  of  the  Sound,  I  contrasted  her  life 
with  that  of  the  madly  rushing  crowd  I  had  left,  with 
the  incessant  noise  of  the  city,  the  incessant  cry  of  suc- 
cess, money,  power.  And  I  thought,  envying,  that  if 
only  I  could  get  Eddie  into  a  home  like  that  life  would 
be  supremely  happy. 

For  if  I  had  been  asked  what  thing  I  missed  most 
from  my  old  life,  I  think  I  should  have  answered, 
"  Solitude  and  quiet."  I  was  so  shut  in  by  people  and 
[176] 


sound  that  there  was  no  place  in  which  I  could  feel 
absolutely  alone.  I  had  been  so  used  to  going  some- 
where by  myself  if  I  felt  unhappy  or  cross,  while  here 
it  seemed  as  if  I  could  never  relax,  as  if  there  were 
always  the  strain  of  hiding  my  feelings.  If  I  shut  my 
bedroom  door  there  was  a  maid  a  few  feet  away  whose 
movements  I  could  hear,  whose  presence  I  could  feel. 
If  I  had  had  tears  on  my  face  when  Eddie  came  home 
he  would  have  thought  that  I  was  unhappy,  and  thus 
these  fits  of  depression  or  homesickness  or  bad  temper 
simmered  inside  whereas  if  I  could  have  taken  them  to 
the  quiet  and  solitude  of  the  Mere,  they  would  have 
dissolved  in  tears  and  I  should  have  known  them  for 
the  petty  things  they  were. 

Sometimes  when  the  longing  for  the  sound  of  many 
trees  and  the  absence  of  people  drove  me  out,  I  would 
wander  in  the  fine  stretches  of  Central  Park  and  watch 
the  squirrels,  but  always  the  peace  was  spoiled  by  the 
presence  of  others  and  the  content  of  being  alone  would 
change  to  a  quick  miserable  loneliness  in  the  fact  of 
seeing  nothing  but  strange  faces. 

Little  by  little  as  the  newness  of  everything  wore 
away  I  began  to  find  time  hang  heavily  on  my  hands. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  my  home  had  been  arranged 
by  some  one  else,  I  think  I  should  soon  have  developed 
the  pride  of  ownership  if  I  alone  had  been  responsible 
for  its  cleanliness  and  good  order.  But  the  maid 
spoiled  this.  The  care  of  the  few  small  rooms  certainly 
did  not  overtax  her  strength,  and  I  imagine  she  would 
have  thought  me  utterly  crazy  had  I  suddenly  ex- 

[177] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


pressed  a  desire  to  "  turn  out "  a  room  myself.  So 
I  only  pottered  around,  trying  to  make  the  place  feel 
more  homelike  by  changing  the  furniture,  and  buying 
plenty  of  cushions  and  covers  to  give  it  a  touch  of  my 
individual  taste.  But  in  my  own  eyes  the  effort  was 
rather  pitiful,  and  in  spite  of  friendly  admiration  from 
others,  to  me  it  still  seemed  like  a  suite  in  a  hotel. 
Lacking  that  intimate  care  and  thought  and  love  with 
which  I  had  dreamed  of  building  up  our  home,  I  never 
felt  at  rest  in  these  few  rooms  perched  upon  one  side 
of  this  great  building. 

After  Eddie  had  gone  in  the  morning,  I  would 
flutter  about  the  piano  not  doing  any  real  practising, 
but  just  passing  the  time,  then  pick  up  a  novel  and 
spend  another  hour  reading,  perhaps  sew  a  little,  then 
wait  for  lunch.  After  lunch  there  seemed  so  many 
hours  before  he  came  home — how  could  I  fill  them? 
If  I  were  going  out  the  problem  was  partly  solved,  but 
I  did  not  know  enough  people  to  make  engagements 
for  every  afternoon,  and  in  any  case,  there  seemed 
something  useless  about  these  afternoon  parties.  At 
Sunnydale  I  had  always  had  something  to  do;  visits 
to  sick  people,  readings  for  old  Mrs.  Bell,  sewing  par- 
ties at  the  vicarage,  flowers  to  take  to  the  county  hos- 
pital, and  for  amusements  there  had  been  such  fine, 
health-giving  things  as  riding,  driving,  gardening, 
tennis,  hockey — every  day  seemed  to  have  some  duty 
or  pleasure.  I  had  told  Eddie  that  I  wanted  to  help 
him,  I  had  even  suggested  giving  up  the  maid  and 
doing  my  own  housework  and  learning  to  cook,  having 

[178] 


The  New  Country 


in  mind  Mrs.  Harden's  competence  in  this  respect;  for 
I  had  been  surprised  to  learn  that  the  only  outside  help 
she  had  was  a  weekly  laundress.  But  Eddie  laughed 
at  my  notion. 

"  Why,  you  do  help  me  now,  it's  fine  to  know  I  am 
working  for  you." 

"  But  I  want  to  be  an  active  help.  I  went  with 
Maisie  to-day  to  hear  Mrs.  Sparkles  and  she  talked  of 
*  Parasites.'  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  is  just  what 
I  am,  what  most  of  these  girls  are!  " 

Eddie  burst  out  into  his  hearty  laugh.  "  Jehosha- 
phat!  Is  that  Maisie's  newest  fad?  She  positively 
wears  a  cause  as  if  it  were  the  latest  fashion.  But 
don't  you  worry,  dearie,  I  am  quite  satisfied,  I  can 
tell  you." 

I  felt  vaguely  that  I  was  not,  but  yet  was  lacking 
in  a  practical  suggestion  of  any  work  which  I  could  do. 

Perhaps  I  looked  discontented  for  Eddie  went  on 
cheerfully,  "  Tell  you  what,  Margaret,  why  don't  you 
ride?  It's  beautiful  in  the  park  in  the  early  mornings. 
Do  you  want  me  to  fix  it  ?  " 

"Ride — oh,  I'd  love  it.  Would  it  be  possible? 
Where  would  we  keep  my  horse  ?  Where  can  we  buy 
him?  "  My  spirits  surged  upward  in  the  joy  of  antici- 
pation— I  would  again  have  an  animal  to  love. 

"  Buy  him !  Say,  you  do  think  I'm  a  millionaire. 
I  was  only  suggesting  a  part  share,  but  even  a  hired 
horse  would  be  better  than  no  riding,  eh  ?  " 

All  my  pleasure  went.  The  keenest  part  of  the  joy 
of  riding  had  been  my  love  for  the  animal  who  carried 

[179] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


me,  who  was  mine,  who  knew  me  and  responded  to  my 
touch — a  hired  horse,  at  the  mercy  of  every  one,  of 
people  who  wouldn't  love  him,  who'd  use  him  badly! 
No,  I  couldn't  bear  it.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Eddie, 
maybe  we'd  better  leave  it,  thank  you  all  the  same." 

"  Well,  let  me  know  if  you  change  your  mind,"  he 
answered  casually,  and  returned  to  his  book. 

A  few  days  after  I  had  my  first  invitation  to  Mary 
Harden's  flat.  When  I  went  among  the  crowd  of 
women,  my  immediate  feeling  was  relief  that  I  had 
put  on  one  of  the  simple  dresses  which  Maisie  de- 
spised. For  it  was  quite  apparent  that  here  dress  was 
not  the  most  important  matter.  Mary's  guests  looked 
nice,  but  they  lacked  that  extremely  studied  effect 
which  Maisie's  crowd  presented  and  which  was  tht 
result  of  a  minute  and  interested  study  in  which  every 
detail  was  thought  out.  And  I  began  to  feel  at  home. 

There  were  present  a  doctor  and  a  social  worker; 
that  I  learned  from  their  conversation.  I  also  gathered 
that  there  was  not  one  among  the  others  who  did  not 
earn  her  living  in  some  way,  either  in  art  or  business, 
and  the  knowledge  reflected  on  my  own  uselessness. 
They  were  delightful  to  me  with  an  affable  sociability 
which  made  me  feel  entirely  welcome,  but  they  were 
so  confident,  so  successful,  so  well  able  to  talk  grace- 
fully and  easily  about  things  which  were  like  Greek 
to  me  that  my  first  complacency  oozed  away.  If  they 
listened  to  my  chatter  it  would  only  be  out  of  the 
kindness  of  their  hearts,  I  thought,  and  soon  shyness 
kept  me  quietly  listening. 
[180] 


The  New  Country 


I  was  so  engrossed  that  I  started  when  I  heard  a 
voice  at  my  elbow, — "  Mary  tells  me  you  are  English. 
And  how  do  you  like  America?  "  the  doctor  was  say- 
ing to  me. 

I  looked  round  guiltily  to  find  Mary  Harden's  eyes 
bright  with  mischief,  and  as  I  hesitated  in  confusion 
she  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  she  said  gaily.  "  Mrs.  Boynton 
has  only  seen  a  few  square  miles  of  it,  the  centre  of 
which  is  the  New  York  flat,  the  restaurant,  the  theatre. 
She's  come  from  a  country  place  where  she  knew 
every  one  from  childhood,  she's  too  reserved  to  make 
friends  easily."  She  raised  her  eyebrows  at  the  com- 
pany. "  Do  you  wonder  that  the  impression  is  not  too 
gratifying?  " 

"  I  wasn't  reserved  with  you,  Miss  Harden,"  I  said 
in  self-defence. 

The  doctor  smiled — "  Mary  is  a  wizard  at  opening 
hearts ;  of  course,  it's  her  business!  " 

"  And  pleasure,"  said  Mary  defensively. 

Quite  suddenly  the  doctor  grinned  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  the  youthful  flash  of  mischief  in  her  keen 
clever  face.  "  I  knew  that  would  get  you,  my  dear! 
But  talking  of  reserve,  I  do  want  to  ask  Mrs.  Boynton 
a  question  which  has  often  puzzled  me — you  know  my 
limitless  curiosity — What  essential  trait  is  it  which 
prompts  an  Englishman  in  meeting  a  stranger  to  iron 
the  smile  from  his  face  till  his  manner  suggests,  '  I 
don't  care  a  damn  whether  you  like  me  or  not ! '  and 
which,  on  the  contrary,  animates  the  American  to  smile 

[181] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


more  widely  and  hold  out  his  hand  as  if  to  say,  '  I'm 
a  darned  nice  fellow,  I  am,  you'll  certainly  like  me — 
shake! '  Yet  I'm  sure  the  Englishman  is  just  as  keen 
he  should  be  liked  as  any  other  decent  human." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  vivacity  of  her  tone 
which  mimicked  the  difference  in  accent  and  manner, 
but  a  suspicion  of  resentment  made  me  say  impulsively, 
"  But  he  doesn't  do  that — I  mean  iron  the  smile — does 
he?" 

And  then  as  they  looked  at  me  smilingly,  waiting  for 
me  to  go  on,  I  reddened  with  sudden  self -conscious- 
ness, while  my  thoughts  were  filled  by  a  vivid  memory 
of  that  day  when  I  had  stood  staring  at  Sir  Mark  in 
the  hall  of  Meadowmere.  Now  I  was  equally  dumb 
and  stupid.  Perhaps  I  looked  beseechingly  at  Mary 
Harden,  for  she  got  up  and  lighting  a  cigarette,  she 
waved  it  airily  as  she  said, 

"  I've  got  it  all  figured  out,  Doc.  You  know  the 
numerous  Englishmen  you've  met — at  least  three,  eh 
Doc? — "  there  was  a  swift  smiling  challenge  between 
them — "  have  all  been  importations  here.  You've 
never  seen  them  in  their  own  homes.  I  have  and  I've 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  none  of  us  are  particularly 
apt  to  shine  out  of  our  own  country.  We  may  be 
quite  decent  humans  at  home,  but  in  a  foreign  land  we 
seem  to  be  stuck  full  of  quills,  extremely  sensitive  to 
new  manners,  always  looking  for  slights  and  stings. 
Perhaps  that  was  the  trouble  with  your  Englishmen, 
Doc. 

"  Of  course,  from  our  point  of  view  his  greeting  is 
[182] 


The  New  Country 


not  affable  enough,  has  too  many  bones  in  it,  but  you'd 
be  surprised  how  he  thaws  in  his  own  home.  You 
know  Lil's  husband  is  English  to  the  nth  degree  and 
while  I  stayed  with  them  I  couldn't  help  analysing  him 
and  his  friends.  I  discovered,  I  think,  the  reason  for 
his  reserve.  Among  the  well-bred  of  his  nation  there 
exists  a  code  which  is  rigid  and  inviolable,  a  code  which 
labels  a  breach  in  its  own  etiquette  by  two  damning 
words — '  bad  form.'  And  of  all  the  awful  breaches 
which  can  be  made  by  the  unknowing,  bragging  is  the 
worst!  In  this  tabooed  art  of  bragging  is  included  the 
display  of  emotions,  the  expressed  self -recognition  of 
virtues,  achievements,  enthusiasms.  However  con- 
scious of  possession  he  may  be  in  his  inner  soul,  he 
mustn't  show  it.  Thus  in  his  fear  of  seeming  to  brag 
about  his  virtues,  he  goes  to  the  other  extreme  and 
parades  his  faults  until  self-deprecation  has  become  a 
national  habit  extending  to  his  own  press.  You  may 
accuse  him  of  failure  and  incompetency,  and  he  may 
agree  with  you  cheerfully  and  with  entire  self-posses- 
sion, but  suggest  to  him  his  virtues  and  he  becomes  shy 
and  awkward  as  though  he'd  been  detected  in  a  crime 
— as  though  by  his  agreement  with  you  he  should  seem 
to  boast  and  thus  incur  a  suspicion  of  that  blasting  label 
of  '  bad  form.'  " 

"  Then  after  all  this  hiding  of  his  light  under  a 
bushel,  how  can  he  be  pained  if  the  world  does  not 
know  him,  takes  him  at  his  labelled  valuation.  Such 
national  reticence  is  a  serious  drawback  in  this  age 
of  advertising.  If  you  do  a  good  deed,  why  in  thunder 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


should  you  be  ashamed  of  it — that's  the  way  we  feel." 
It  was  the  doctor  who  was  speaking  and  in  a  mo- 
mentary accession  of  confidence,  I  answered,  "  I  sup- 
pose we  can't  help  it,  it's  born  into  us,  and  trained  in- 
to us,  hard — but  when  you  really  get  to  know  us  maybe 
you'll  be  astonished  at  the  pleasing  result." 

They  all  laughed.  "  Bravo !  That  is  certainly  a 
beginning  to  the  banishment  of  modesty !  "  And  as 
their  remarks  drifted  to  another  subject,  I  involun- 
tarily carried  the  contrast  to  the  two  men  I  knew  well. 
It  was  more  than  likely  that  Sir  Mark  was  better  edu- 
cated than  Eddie,  for  after  getting  his  B.A.  at  Oxford 
he  had  continued  his  studies  in  other  universities  of 
France  and  Germany;  he  had  travelled  more  exten- 
sively, was  certainly  more  widely  read  in  the  several 
languages  he  knew.  His  opinion  was  listened  to  with 
respect  by  all  the  old  and  long  heads  in  the  county, 
and  yet  with  his  gentle  reticence,  his  fear  of  adver- 
tising either  virtues,  or  cleverness,  or  strength,  and 
with  his  lack  of  assertiveness  he  had  been  outshone  by 
Eddie's  young  forcefulness  and  self-confidence,  by  the 
unconsciousness  of  any  necessity  for  being  dignified, 
by  the  natural  instinct  for  saying  what  he  thought  and 
getting  what  he  wanted  which  was  primitive  and 
youthful. 

As  I  came  near  to  the  apartment  the  zest  I  had  felt 
while  I  was  with  these  animated  women  faded  into 
depression.  I  liked  them  all,  they  were  delightful,  had 
evidently  taken  me  at  Mary  Harden's  valuation  and 
wished  to  make  me  welcome.  Mary  I  might  have 

[184] 


The  New  Country 


grown  to  love,  so  much  was  I  attracted  to  her.  But 
I  would  always  be  too  conscious  of  the  gap  which  was 
made  between  us  by  her  superior  knowledge  of  the 
world,  her  intellect,  her  experience.  It  seemed  that 
she  could  never  look  upon  me  as  a  friend;  that  she 
must  feel  towards  me  as  the  prize  Persian  might  to- 
wards the  house  va/iety  of  just — cat. 

And  in  the  sudden  realisation  that  I  needed  a  friend 
I  wished  that  I  were  different ;  that  I  were  intellectual 
and  interesting  or  that,  like  Maisie,  I  had  no  aspira- 
tions beyond  the  pleasure  of  the  moment. 


[185] 


Chapter  Five 

AFTER  the  first  six  months  I  noticed  a  gradual 
and  increasing  diminution  in  the  luncheon  and 
afternoon  parties.  Perhaps  Maisie  and  her  friends 
had  taken  me  up  as  they  would  a  new  fad,  perhaps  it 
was  that  I  could  not  fit  myself  into  their  lives.  In 
justice  I  admitted  that  they  had  an  excuse  for  drop- 
ping me  out  of  their  gaieties,  that  as  their  self-confi- 
dence drove  away  the  small  amount  of  it  I  possessed, 
I  must  indeed  appear  more  stupid,  more  shy.  I  could 
not  speak  lightly  of  divorce,  nor  discuss  what  seemed 
to  me  like  intimate  subjects  without  a  blush,  nor  look 
composed  when  Maisie  said  lightly  that  she  didn't 
have  time  for  a  child. 

"  No  time !  "  I  exclaimed  in  astonishment,  "  why, 
you  have  nothing  to  do !  " 

I  think  her  astonishment  was  just  as  great — "  Noth- 
ing to  do,  gee,  I  like  that!  Why  I  never  have  a 
minute.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  find  time  some  day,  for 
Jack's  crazy  about  children,  but  meantime  I  should 
worry!  "  Then,  as  I  was  probably  not  able  to  hide  my 
distaste  for  her  light  tone,  she  added  quizzically. 

"  Why,  would  you  be  glad  if  you  had  a  baby?  " 

The  colour  rose  in  my  cheeks;  it  was  as  if  a  heavy 
foot  had  trodden  on  my  most  sacred  feelings.  Not 
[186] 


The  New  Country 


even  to  my  husband  could  I  voice  my  intense  longing, 
and  disappointment  that  motherhood  had  not  come  to 
me.  I  had  always  loved  all  helpless  things  so  much — 
all  the  babies  who  had  been  born  in  the  village,  all  the 
puppies,  kittens,  calves  and  chickens  born  on  the  estate. 
Here  I  had  found  no  one  who  seemed  to  need  love,  no 
one  helpless  or  pathetic — even  an  animal  was  denied  to 
me  because  I  could  not  bottle  it  up  in  an  apartment. 
So  all  this  mother-love  seethed  aimlessly  in  my  heart 
and  even  to  myself,  I  hardly  dared  think  what  it 
would  mean  to  be  able  to  pour  it  out  on  a  baby  of  my 
own. 

I  swallowed  hard;  never  would  I  admit  all  this  to 
her.  "  Oh,  I  wouldn't  care,"  I  answered  in  a  tone  I 
vainly  strove  to  make  as  light  as  hers.  But  I  expect 
she  saw  my  embarrassment  and  thought  me  shy  and 
stupid. 

That  she  did  not  give  me  up  entirely  was  probably 
due  to  Airs.  Boynton,  who  occasionally  came  along  in 
the  sedan,  with  a  rather  bored  Maisie  as  chauffeur  and 
took  me  for  a  drive.  I  judged  from  this  that  there 
were  times  when  even  the  self-willed  Maisie  did  not 
have  her  way,  and  indeed  Mrs.  Boynton's  powers  of 
persuasion  had  been  applied  to  me  with  the  result  she 
sought. 

It  was  in  the  matter  of  church -going.  At  first  I  had 
gone  with  her  quite  regularly,  leaving  Eddie  at  home 
to  read  the  Sunday  paper — a  budget  which  in  its  amaz- 
ing volume  still  astonished  me.  In  the  beginning  I 
had  been  overawed  by  the  newness  and  grandeur  of 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


the  building  in  Fifth  Avenue,  and  by  the  size  and  ap- 
pearance of  the  fashionable  congregation  from  which 
poverty  seemed  excluded.  But  one  morning  after  a 
tiff  with  Eddie  had  sent  my  mood  to  zero,  I  looked 
around  at  the  strange  faces,  and  a  sudden  desperate 
longing  came  over  me  for  the  simple  little  church  at 
home,  for  the  vicar  who  had  baptized  me,  for  the 
friendly  pews  in  which  I  had  first  sat  when  I  was  so 
small  that  my  legs  stuck  out  in  straight  lines  from  the 
seat — for  the  well-known  faces,  for  the  chatter  as  we 
passed  out  through  the  old  lych  gate.  Tears  stung  my 
eyes  as  my  lips  quivered  and  I  was  so  near  the  edge  of 
hysterical  weeping  that  I  vowed  I  would  never  go 
again. 

But  an  excuse  had  to  be  made  to  Mrs.  Boynton  and 
my  words  faltered  under  her  kindly  smile.  I  tried  to 
explain  that  it  reminded  me  too  keenly  of  home, — "  I'm 
afraid  of  myself,  of  being  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  all 
these  people  who  look  so  cool  and  indifferent " 

"  Land's  sake,  Margaret,"  she  laughed,  "  what 
would  you  have?  Would  you  expect  them  to  grin 
and  nod  to  you  and  say  '  How-do  '  ?  "  Then  her  tone 
altered  to  a  persuasive  kindness.  "  I  do  hope  you'll 
not  give  up  coming  with  me,  it's  real  nice  having  you, 
not  going  alone  any  more." 

"  Doesn't  Maisie  ever  go  with  you?  " 

"  Not  so  you  could  notice,"  she  answered  com- 
fortably. "  Let's  leave  it  and  see  how  you  feel  next 
Sunday." 

And  next  Sunday  the  thought  that  she  needed  me 
[188] 


The  New  Country 


prevailed,  so  that  afterwards  there  were  few  times 
when  she  went  alone. 

As  the  weather  began  to  get  hot,  the  feeling  of  being 
surrounded  by  people  and  noise  grew  more  intense. 
Mary  Harden  had  gone  up  to  her  beloved  mountains 
and  I  had  a  letter  from  her  urging  me  to  join  her, 
painting  the  beauties  with  a  lavish  hand.  I  was  flat- 
tered that  she  wanted  me,  yet  unwilling  to  leave  Eddie 
in  the  city.  When  I  handed  him  the  letter  without 
remark  he  exclaimed  enthusiastically. 

"  Why,  that's  a  great  idea,  you  ought  to  get  out  of 
the  heat,  you'll  feel  it  badly  the  first  summer.  When 
will  you  go?  " 

"Why  should  I  go  while  you  stay  and  work?"  I 
asked  stubbornly,  refusing  to  give  up  my  point  of 
view. 

"  But  I  can't  get  away  and  you  can," 

"Why  can't  you?" 

"  Because  I  must  watch  the  market,"  he  said  a  little 
wearily.  I  had  noticed  lately  that  his  energy  seemed 
to  have  staled.  Often  enough  when  he  came  home  he 
wanted  nothing  more  than  a  book  and  going  out 
seemed  to  be  such  an  effort  that  I  began  to  refuse  in- 
vitations which  meant  late  hours.  Had  only  two  years 
of  that  struggle  for  success  made  such  an  impression 
on  the  boundless  energy  and  buoyancy  of  Sunnydale 
days?  While  he  read,  I  would  sit  and  do  some  stupid 
bit  of  embroidery  which  was  often  spoiled  by  my  hot 
ringers  as  I  struggled  pettishly  with  the  feeling  that 
these  hot  days  and  evenings  were  terribly  monotonous. 

[189] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Why  do  you  bother  about  the  market  ?  Why  don't 
you  just  do  your  legitimate  business,  then  you  would 
have  heaps  of  free  time  and  wouldn't  always  be 
worrying?  " 

"  Because  we  can't  live  on  what  I  get  from  Dad. 
When  I  get  a  big  job,  it  will  be  all  right,  but  at 
present  I  must  make  a  bit  on  the  side." 

"  It  seems  that  it  would  be  more  sensible  to  econo- 
mise and  have  time  for  a  holiday.  I've  told  you  that 
I'm  quite  willing  to  do  the  work  and  cooking  and  buy 
less  clothes  if  only  we  can  go  away." 

"  I  can't  get  away,"  he  said  more  irritably. 

"  All  right,"  I  answered  with  rising  colour,  "  then 
I'll  have  to  stay  and  endure  the  heat." 

How  strange  it  was  I  thought  that  a  trait  in  a  char- 
acter which  seems  especially  admirable  from  a  distance 
loses  its  virtue  when  we  have  to  live  with  it!  The 
concentration  and  desire  to  succeed  which  I  had 
thought  so  wonderful  in  Mr.  Edward  Boynton  took 
on  a  very  different  aspect  in  my  husband.  The 
glamour  which  had  surrounded  the  man  who  had  stood 
on  the  hill-top,  eager  to  conquer  the  world,  was  absent 
from  this  quiet  hard  figure  immersed  in  business. 

The  shadow  of  estrangement  emerged,  vaguely 
menacing. 

And  gradually  as  the  thermometer  climbed  up  and 
up  and  I  existed  in  a  mist  of  heat  and  weariness  with 
nothing  to  do,  I  wondered  whether  I  could  endure. 
Always  heat  and  sound — voices,  carts  rattling,  bells 
and  victrolas — and  often  a  child  practising  the  same 
[190] 


The  New  Country 


tune  over  and  over  again.  One  day  it  was  "  The  Blue- 
bells of  Scotland  " — "  arranged  for  little  fingers  " — 
didn't  I  know  it?  If  only  she  hadn't  been  so  madden- 
ingly correct  .  .  .  What  a  precise  child  she  must  be, 
no  hurry,  just  an  infinite  patience  going  over  and  over 
the  same  bars  till  they  beat  on  my  brain.  I  could 
imagine  her  sitting  there  in  a  clean  dress,  hair  brushed 
into  a  pigtail,  eyes  forward,  sedate  little  face  intent 
only  on  the  music  before  her — music !  As  though  she 
could  have  gone  on  playing  in  that  lifeless  precision  if 
there  had  been  music  in  her  soul !  .  .  . 

Suddenly  with  a  wave  of  savage  fury  I  jumped  up, 
feeling  that  I  would  stop  at  nothing  to  silence 
that  nerve-racking  tee-to-tum.  Trembling  and  both 
alarmed  and  ashamed  at  such  a  storm  over  this  trifle, 
I  put  on  my  hat  and  hurried  out  to  see  Mrs.  Boynton. 

She  was  the  only  woman  I  knew  who  was  at  home. 
She  preferred  to  stay  in  the  city  rather  than  leave  her 
husband  alone  as  he  could  not  get  away  till  the  end  of 
the  summer — when  he  said  he  hoped  to  take  a  whole 
week!  One  whole  week  out  of  fifty-two  of  hard  driv- 
ing labour !  Maisie,  of  course,  had  no  such  preference ; 
while  her  husband  worked  she  was  enjoying  life  on 
the  Maine  coast,  light-heartedly  continuing  the  total 
lack  of  division  of  labour  in  their  dual  life. 

When  I  opened  the  door  of  Mrs.  Boynton's  living- 
room,  she  was  sitting  with  one  large  fat  hand  on  either 
knee,  staring  unseeingly  out  of  the  window,  and  I  saw 
a  tear  gather  in  her  momentarily  tragic  eyes,  and 
slowly  roll  down  her  cheeks,  dropping  unheeded  on  the 

[191] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


bright  silk  dress.  Fearing  to  intrude,  I  stepped  back, 
but  she  heard  me  and  called,  "  Come  in,  Margaret,  it's 
all  right,"  as  she  frankly  and  unashamedly  wiped  her 
eyes  and  the  rest  of  her  face  with  a  serviceable  square 
which  she  then  held  hesitatingly  before  she  finally 
stuffed  it  into  her  belt. 

"  Gee,"  she  smiled, — and  through  the  trace  of  tears 
the  smile  was  pathetic — "  I  ought  to  have  been  firm 
with  Maisie  on  that  point;  I  ought  to  have  insisted  on 
a  pocket  whatever  it  did  to  these  darned  clothes,  for 
it's  most  disturbing  to  an  old  woman's  peace  of  mind 
when  she  never  knows  where  her  handkerchief  is — 
though  Maisie  does  say  as  I  could  always  tell  if  I 
looked  for  a  bulge!  I  suppose  you  wonder  what  I  was 
crying  for  when  I  have  everything,  but  I  was  just 
thinking  of  my  Henry,  it's  twenty-five  years  to-day 
since  he  died." 

Henry — who  was  Henry?  "I  am  sorry,  I  didn't 
know.  Eddie  has  never  said  anything " 

"  No,"  she  said  half-sadly,  "  sometimes  I  think  all 
of  them  forget  but  me.  Henry  was  my  first  baby  and 
he  died  when  he  was  a  year  old.  I  think  even  Popper 
forgets  him — almost,  for  he's  crazy  about  Ed.  It's 
only  his  old  mommer  who  remembers  what  a  cute  baby 
he  was ! " 

I  thought  of  this  fat,  seemingly  always  happy 
woman,  sitting  here  alone  with  that  memory,  forgotten 
by  every  one  else,  but  sacred  in  her  heart,  and  the  pity 
of  it  made  me  reach  out  and  touch  her  hand.  "  I  am 
glad  you  told  me." 
[192] 


The  New  Country 


"  There,"  she  was  smiling  again,  "  I  mustn't  be  mak- 
ing you  miserable." 

"  I  think  Maisie  ought  to  be  with  you  more." 

"  Well,  Maisie  is  young  and  you  can't  expect  the 
young  things  to  want  to  hang  around  the  old  folks. 
I  had  my  day  and  I  don't  begrudge  her  any  fun, 
though  to  be  sure  she  has  more  than  I  did." 

"  Why,  did  you  have  work  to  do?  " 

"  Indeed  I  did,"  she  answered  seriously.  "  We  had 
a  farm  up-state.  Father  died  when  I  was  twelve,  but 
Mother  was  a  wonder  and  she  went  on  working  the 
farm  and  I  helped  her  with  it  and  the  four  children,  all 
younger  than  me.  It  was  hard  work,  but  I  was  strong 
and  sound  and  when  Popper  came  along,  I  had  a  grand 
time.  He  was  only  an  engineer  in  the  yard  when  we 
were  married,  but  we  managed  fine  till  Henry  was 
born;  then  hard  times  happened,  a  strike  blew  up  and 
I  had  to  turn  to  and  help.  But  we  pulled  through  and 
it  turned  out  for  the  best,  for  he  got  with  another 
company  and  it  was  there  Mr.  Haselton's  partner 
found  him.  He's  a  smart  man  is  my  Henry.  And  we 
prospered  ever  since.  But  I  often  think  of  those  days 
when  we  had  a  bit  of  a  house  far  away  from  the  city 
and  I  would  wait  for  Popper  to  come  home  with  the 
child  in  my  arms,  ready  to  wave  to  him.  He's  certainly 
a  fine  man." 

"  I'm  sure  he  is,"  I  said  softly.  And  suddenly  I 
envied  her.  It  must  be  splendid  to  struggle  along  with 
one's  husband,  taking  the  rough  with  the  smooth, 
"  turning  to  "  when  hard  times  came.  There  must  be 

[193] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


a  satisfaction  in  looking  back  and  thinking  that  your 
efforts  had  helped,  that  it  was  not  only  the  man  who 
was  responsible  for  the  "  winning  through." 

The  thought  suggested  the  width  of  the  contrast 
between  her  life  and  Maisie's,  whose  path  had  been 
swept  so  clear  of  all  difficulties.  Was  it  to  her  ad- 
vantage? There  were  many  times  when  I  found  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  she  was  a  daughter  of  this 
woman  with  the  happy  face,  and  I  wondered  whether 
the  unselfishness  of  parents  who  put  the  happiness  and 
welfare  of  their  children  as  the  paramount,  the  only 
object  in  their  life,  is  not  actually  cruel  in  its  result 
upon  character.  Maisie  had  been  a  useless,  helpless 
butterfly  in  her  father's  house;  in  marrying  she  had 
simply  transferred  these  characteristics  to  another 
dwelling.  She  did  nothing  but  amuse  herself,  yet  she 
had  no  time  for  children.  Why,  I  wondered,  did  men 
not  revolt — why  were  they  willing  to  carry  the  burden 
of  useless  women  upon  their  shoulders? 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  Boynton  and  in  admiration  for  her 
grit,  for  her  complete  simplicity  of  heart,  I  realised 
that  for  some  time  a  fight  had  been  going  on  inside 
me — between  the  sympathy  and  liking  which  Eddie's 
mother  awoke  in  my  heart,  and  instinctive  distaste  for 
her  manners  which  were  so  different  from  my  own 
canons  of  good  taste.  It  was  a  fight  between  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  Millers  and  the  lack  of  such  in  the  parents 
of  the  man  one  of  them  had  married.  Even  as  I  made 
the  contrast  I  was  ashamed  of  feeling  shame,  and  in 
humility  I  realised  that  though  Mrs.  Boynton  might 

[194] 


The  New  Country 


lack  ancient  lineage  and  a  perfect  manner,  she  had  the 
sturdy  trueness,  the  absence  of  pretence  or  pose,  the 
simple  kindness  of  heart  which  is  the  hall-mark  of 
good  breeding. 

It  was  a  new  point  of  view  for  Margaret  Miller. 


[195] 


Chapter  Six 

IN  an  effort  to  fill  my  time  and  keep  my  thoughts 
from  their  longing  for  Meadowmere,  I  took  to 
wandering  aimlessly  about  New  York.  It  was  on  a 
day  towards  the  end  of  July  that  I  found  myself  in 
the  lower  part  of  Seventh  Avenue.  It  was  terribly 
hot  and  every  time  an  automobile  or  a  trolley  passed 
swiftly  in  the  road,  a  swirl  of  dust  arose,  eddied  a 
while  and  fell,  almost  it  seemed  in  the  same  spot,  as 
though  even  its  energy  were  tamed  by  the  damp  ener- 
vating heat.  And  yet  on  the  burning  dusty  sidewalks, 
children  were  playing — children  with  little  foreign 
faces.  Great  structures  blocked  a  free  vision  of  the 
sky;  huge  pipes,  resting  on  supports,  twined  and  wove 
above  my  head,  while  underneath  my  feet  men  were 
digging  and  boring,  so  that  the  continual  sound  of 
labour  and  voices  made  it  seem  as  though  I  were  walk- 
ing over  the  heads  of  another  race  who  lived  below  the 
earth. 

Such  noise  and  dirt  and  ugliness — how  could  chil- 
dren grow  in  moral  beauty  in  such  surroundings?  I 
looked  up  at  the  vivid  beauty  of  the  intense  blue  sky, 
at  the  glittering  searching  sunshine,  and  it  was  no 
longer  beautiful  because  I  was  hungry  for  grey  skies 
with  only  a  fitful  gleam  of  pale  sun  catching  the  tops 
of  mountains,  for  a  landscape  which  was  subdued, 
[196] 


The  New  Country 


calm,  peaceful,  which  left  a  vague  melancholy  content, 
instead  of  this  restless,  driving  atmosphere  around  me. 

I  wandered  on  further  downtown  till,  turning  to  the 
left  I  found  myself  in  another  foreign  quarter.  For- 
eign names  stood  over  the  shopdoors,  foreign  voices 
sounded  in  my  ears,  foreign  faces  surrounded  me — 
dark  and  often  beautiful  eyes,  swarthy  skins,  quick 
voices. 

Why  had  all  these  people  left  their  country?  Why 
had  these  peasants  exchanged  the  quiet  of  green  fields 
and  vine-grown  slopes  for  noise  and  dirt?  A  woman 
was  sitting  on  a  step  nursing  her  baby ;  her  dark  eyes 
were  staring  vacantly  over  its  head  into  the  swarming 
roadway,  and  for  a  moment  I  fancied  that  she  was 
dreaming  of  her  old  home,  a  cottage  in  a  field  perhaps. 
Why  had  she  left  it?  A  quick  sympathy  with  her 
filled  my  eyes  with  tears ;  we  were  both  aliens,  we  had 
both  left  our  homeland.  Was  it  the  dream  of  wealth 
which  had  brought  her  over  here,  or  was  it  that  other 
dream  of  love,  which  had  brought  me  too?  Had  she 
followed  her  man  over  the  seas — did  all  these  women 
come  for  love  of  father,  brother,  husband,  who  in 
turn  were  attracted  to  America  by  the  lode-star  of 
every  man — money? 

Sympathy  broke  through  my  usual  reserve  and  I 
touched  the  sleeping  baby's  hand.  "  You  have  a  pretty 
baby,"  I  said. 

Into  her  far-seeing  eyes  animation  flashed,  her  face 
altering  from  the  half-melancholy  brooding  into  a  look 
of  gleaming  animation.  She  nodded  her  head  vigor- 

[197] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


ously,  looking  at  the  baby  with  pride,  "  My  baby — yes 
— pretty  baby,  eh?  "  her  soft  Italian  voice  slurring  the 
consonants  till  it  sounded  like  one  liquid  word. 

"You  are  from  Italy?" 

"  Yes — Etalee — cornea  from  Etalee." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  it  ?  "  For  a  moment  she 
looked  puzzled,  then  with  her  quick  gleaming  smile 
and  rapid  moving  shoulders — "  I  cornea  Etalee — hus- 
band he  cornea  Etalee." 

"  I  see,"  I  said  smiling — if  love  had  been  her  reason 
— what  was  his  ?  "  And  do  you  like  New  York." 

"  Yes,  yes,  lika  much — plentee  eat — lika  much." 

Plenty  to  eat!  Had  that  been  the  star  which  drew 
them  to  another  country,  not  even  the  desire  for  wealth 
but  enough  to  eat.  After  all  what  did  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery  matter  if  one  had  not  enough  to  eat?  I  smiled 
at  this  descent  from  romantic  imaginations  to  mundane 
necessities,  then  the  sadness  of  it  made  my  throat 
contract  and  putting  a  coin  in  the  baby's  hand  I 
wandered  on  till  weariness  drove  me  home.  The 
courage,  the  pathos  of  these  peasants  who  leave  their 
homes  for  an  unknown  and  uncertain  future ! 

So  July  dragged  by  with  seemingly  never-ending 
days  and  with  the  end  of  it  came  the  terrifying 
rumours  of  war.  And  when  I  knew  that  my  country 
was  also  in  the  whirlpool  I  felt  that  tremendous  exal- 
tation with  which  one  sees  the  beginning  of  a  great 
sacrifice,  not  realising  all  the  weary  days  of  watching 
and  the  pitiful  losses  before  the  end  is  attained. 

England  was  at  war !    And  immediately  all  the  years 

[198] 


The  New  Country 


at  Meadowmere  sent  out  their  tentacles,  drawing  me 
closer,  making  my  life  here  seem  unreal,  unconnected 
with  the  inner  part  of  me.  Awed  by  the  thought  of 
the  terrible  possibilities,  passionately,  tenderly  proud  of 
the  immediate  response  to  a  pledge  of  honour,  aching 
for  sympathy  in  the  struggle  which  was  before  us,  I 
waited  for  my  husband. 

"  Eddie !  It's  come !  "  I  said  tremulously  as  I  met 
him  at  the  door  on  that  fourth  of  August.  "  Oh,  how 
I  wish  I  could  do  something!  " 

Looking  pale  and  worried,  he  replied  in  an  absent 
tone, 

"  Yes,  it's  terrible.  I  don't  know  what's  going  to 
happen,  and  the  market  has  gone  to  pieces ! " 

The  words  fell  heavily  on  my  craving  for  sympathy. 
'  The  market — money — is  that  all  you  ever  think  of? 
I  wish  it  would  stay  in  pieces  for  ever  and  ever!  "  I 
said  bitterly  as  I  went  away  from  him. 

No  friction,  nothing  that  had  ever  come  between  us 
had  so  completely  raised  that  menacing  shadow  of 
estrangement.  I  was  an  alien  in  a  foreign  country,  I 
thought,  and  nationality  seemed  eradicably  to  sepa- 
rate us. 

Through  the  anxious  days  which  followed,  as  letters 
began  to  arrive  telling  me  of  friends  who  had  joined 
the  great  army  of  volunteers,  inevitably  I  drew  further 
away  from  my  husband.  For  he  was  one  of  those 
around  me,  rich,  strong,  untouched  by  suffering,  and 
all  my  soul  was  tortured  by  the  fate  of  my  people,  by 
France  and  Belgium.  With  the  blindness  of  injustice 

[199] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


founded  on  suffering  I  blamed  him  that  life  around  me 
went  on  as  usual. 

I  lived  only  in  the  war  news,  waiting  anxiously  for 
mail — Meadowmere  was  lent  to  the  Government  for  a 
convalescent  home, — they  were  all  in  it,  each  eager  to 
help  while  I  was  absent,  cut  off — then  came  a  letter  in 
Sir  Mark's  writing.  He  too  was  going.  And  once 
disdainfully  I  had  thought  of  him  as  old,  contrasted 
him  with  Youth.  But  he  too  was  going. 

Old  affection  held  me,  remorse  ached  in  my  heart, 
and  in  that  moment  of  supreme,  passionate  admiration 
and  sympathy,  I  regretted  my  choice. 


[200] 


Chapter  Seven 


THE  heat  increased.  As  I  read  the  war  news  in 
Herald  Square  on  a  day  in  late  August  the 
thermometer  registered  98  and  was  still  rising.  It 
seemed  as  if  an  end  must  come,  as  if  I  could  not 
endure  my  life  any  longer.  When  again  I  entered  the 
apartment  the  heat  rushed  at  me  through  the  open 
door,  and  the  sound  of  a  piano  and  a  gramophone 
came  through  the  open  window. 

Heat,  such  heat — and  noise  and  people.  So  many 
people  .  .  . 

How  lovely  it  would  be  at  Meadowmere  just  then 
— cool  breezes  and  flowers  and  trees,  and  above  all 
peace.  The  farm-yard  would  be  dozing  in  the  soft 
afternoon  sun,  no  one  in  sight,  no  sound — so  deli- 
ciously  cool  down  by  the  Mere,  the  light  scarcely  filter- 
ing through  the  thick  trees,  so  quiet  and  cool. 

I  want  to  go  home.  Oh  God,  I  want  to  go 
home!  .  .  . 

"Hello,  kiddie,  a  bit  warm,  eh?"  Eddie's  voice 
with  its  attempted  cheerfulness  awoke  me.  I  raised 
my  disfigured  tear-stained  face  to  meet  his  astonished 
gaze.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

With  the  courage  of  desperate  longing  I  said  firmly, 

[201] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  I  want  to  go  home,  this  place  is  killing  me,  I'm 
stifling  in  the  heat  and  noise  and  people.  I  want  to 
go  to  Meadowmere  and  help.  They're  waiting  for  the 
wounded  now.  I  can't  stay  here — you  must  come  with 

me.  I'll  die — I'll "  I  could  not  keep  the  rising 

hysteria  from  my  voice. 

The  anxious  look  became  a  little  sterner.  "  You're 
all  in  with  the  heat,"  he  said  gently,  "  I'll  take  a  vaca- 
tion to-morrow  and  we'll  go  to  the  beach." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  beach,  there  will  be 
thousands.  I  want  to  go  home,"  I  said  desperately, 
"  there's  nothing  to  stop  us.  You  can  make  money 
there  just  as  well  as  here,  and  I  can  work  all  the  time 
for  the  poor  boys.  And  some  day  in  a  peaceful 
future  we  shall  have  Meadowmere  and  the  delicious 
sense  of  a  real  home.  Oh,  take  me  home,  please, 
please ! " 

My  arms  were  round  his  neck  as  I  pleaded,  looking 
eagerly  up  into  his  face,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
yielding.  His  lips  were  grim,  his  brows  frowning. 
"  Home !  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  a  little  bitterly,  "  this 
is  your  home !  " 

"  You  can't  call  an  apartment  home — it's " 

He  put  my  hands  away.  "  This  is  my  home  at  any 
rate.  If  you  are  not  satisfied  you  must  go  back  to 
England,  but  I'm  afraid  I  can't  come  with  you."  And 
he  went  out.  .  .  . 

And  supposing  I  did  go  back,  how  little  difference  it 
would  make  to  him.  How  little  I  counted  in  his  life. 
I  had  had  my  dreams.  I  had  wanted  to  be  a  com- 
[202  ] 


The  New  Country 


panion,  a  being  who  divided  the  duties  of  the  dual 
life  of  marriage  with  her  husband.  And  now  I  wore 
the  clothes  for  which  he  paid,  I  telephoned  to  grocer 
and  butcher  and  gave  a  few  orders.  I  sat  at  the 
breakfast  table,  but  I  doubt  whether  he  knew  whether 
I  was  there  or  not,  so  entirely  and  immediately  was  he 
plunged  into  the  financial  news.  During  the  few  eve- 
nings which  we  sometimes  spent  alone  together,  he  was 
either  too  tired  to  talk,  or  his  thoughts  were  still  on 
the  day's  business ;  he  certainly  would  not  have  missed 
me  then.  The  half  a  dozen  words  of  conversation 
which  were  frequently  all  that  passed  could  easily  have 
been  dispensed  with — then  bedtime  and  another  day 
gone,  almost  identical  with  the  one  which  was  likely 
to  come,  hardly  to  be  picked  out  from  all  those  which 
had  passed. 

I  was  ashamed  to  think  that  there  was  really  only 
one  reason  for  my  presence — was  this  all  that  mar- 
riage meant?  Was  there  only  the  attraction  of  a 
pretty  face  waning  as  soon  as  the  newness  wore  away? 
My  mother's  coldly  spoken  words  came  to  me — "  If 
he  had  not  been  like  all  you  men,  caught  by  a  pretty 
young  face."  Was  she  right?  I  had  thought  of  love 
as  sacrifice  and  willing  service,  the  power  which  had 
made  Nancy  give  up  her  well-loved  home  for  the  sake 
of  her  child,  the  power  which  had  made  me  willing 
to  leave  everything  which  counted  so  much,  for  the 
man  I  loved. 

And  to  him  I  did  not  count  nearly  so  much  as 
"  Business."  Out  of  the  twenty-four  hours  of  each 

[203] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


day's  existence,  nearly  half  of  them  were  given  to 
actual  working  at  it,  over  the  remainder  it  cast  its 
spell,  for  even  when  he  ate  or  slept  or  talked  with  me, 
I  doubt  if  it  were  ever  clearly  out  of  his  mind.  From 
this  incessant  occupation  with  the  one  subject  he  made 
money  which  was  spent  on  the  decking  of  his  wife  in 
peacock  colours,  on  restaurants,  theatres — on  living  a 
life  from  which  neither  of  us  could  be  extracting  one 
thing  which  would  be  of  benefit  to  our  future  happi- 
ness or  welfare. 

Jack  Whiting  worked  just  as  hard,  so  did  Mr. 
Boynton.  Yet  the  latter  was  a  man  of  fifty-five  who 
ought  to  have  been  taking  long  walks,  playing  golf, 
relaxing,  saving  energy  for  a  healthy  old  age.  He 
must  have  made  enough  money  to  keep  them  in  a  quiet 
simple  way,  but  habit  apparently  kept  his  nose  to  the 
grindstone,  so  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  beauty  of 
the  country  or  the  voices  in  the  trees.  It  was  all 
wrong.  I  thought  of  some  of  the  men  who  lived  in 
Sunnydale — one  a  retired  banker,  a  man  of  fifty,  with 
a  fat,  jolly  red  face  who  almost  lived  in  the  open  air, 
whose  laugh  advertised  his  contentment;  another,  the 
owner  of  a  mill  which  was  twenty  miles  away,  "  so 
that  I  can't  get  too  fond  of  it,"  as  he  said  with 
twinkling  eyes.  I  thought  of  other  men  who  went 
away  for  vacations,  coming  back  with  new  zest  and 
brown  faces,  men  who  sandwiched  golf  with  busi- 
ness so  that  in  making  enough  money  to  live  in  peace- 
ful comfort,  they  debarred  it  from  being  the  main- 
spring in  their  lives — who  were  untouched  by  this 

[204] 


The  New  Country 


flame  of  success,  fame,  wealth,  millions.  If  only  it 
had  not  scorched  my  husband's  soul.  .  .  . 

The  door-bell  sounded,  a  low  harmonious  voice 
spoke  my  name,  and  Mary  Harden  was  in  the  room, 
impulsively  kissing  me  as  she  said  eagerly,  "  I'm  just 
back  from  the  country,  and  I  haven't  a  moment,  but  I 
had  to  come  in  just  to  say  good-bye!  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  " 

"  To  France,"  she  answered  passionately.  "  I  can 
drive  any  old  car  anywhere,  I  know  something  of 
nursing,  I'm  an  old  business  woman  with  a  head  which 
cannot  be  turned  or  twisted.  I  can  be  of  use." 

I  stood  staring  at  her  stupidly  and  then  to  her 
astonishment  I  burst  into  tears.  She  put  her  arms 
around  me,  "  You  poor  dear,  is  it  as  bad  as  that?  " 

"  No  one  seemed  to  care !  " 

Her  eyes  flashed.  "  That's  not  true !  Thousands 
of  us  are  going.  You're  unjust." 

"  Forgive  me,  but  I've  been  thinking  and  thinking 
till  I'm  crazy.  Take  me  with  you,  I  want  to  help." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  I'm  afraid 
you're  not  the  right  kind,  you're  too  sensitive,  you've 
never  had  to  push  your  way  through  difficulties." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right,  I'm  a  useless  kind  of  crea- 
ture, I'm  not  any  use  here  either,  I'd  better  have  stayed 
at  Meadowmere." 

"  No  one  is  useless,"  she  answered  steadily,  "  you 
can  help  here,  by  example,  by  spirit,  and  there's  the 
Red  Cross,  you  can  work  for  that " 

"  But  I  want  to  be  in  it,  I'm  so  far  away — — " 

[205] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Maybe  your  duty  is  here,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I 
must  go,  I  haven't  another  minute,  but  I'll  write  you. 
Good-bye." 

With  her  going  the  flat  again  became  empty  and 
lifeless.  She  told  me  to  stay  and  work  here  while 
she  went  into  the  eager  emotional  life  of  active  help; 
she  left  me  with  the  cold  ugly  word  of  duty. 

And  the  shadow  which  she  had  lifted  descended, 
grew  more  menacing.  It  seemed  as  though  the  pliant 
woman  were  hardening,  becoming  more  critical  and 
antagonistic.  Eddie  would  never  yield  to  me.  And 
as  each  estrangement  weakened  the  emotion  which 
brought  reconciliation,  the  menace  of  a  future  when 
it  should  become  powerless,  deadened,  became  definite, 
unbearable. 

It  was  almost  eleven  when  Eddie  came  in  and  his 
white  tired  face  made  a  rift  in  my  hard  resentment. 
"  Have  you  had  any  dinner  ?  "  I  asked  abruptly. 

"  No,  nothing,  I've  just  been  walking  around." 

My  heart  stirred  to  the  admission  in  his  words.  The 
maid  had  gone  to  bed  and  as  I  went  into  the  kitchen, 
the  natural  motherly  instinct  to  feed  a  tired  and  hungry 
man  began  to  assert  itself,  softening  resentment,  allow- 
ing an  opening  for  old  tenderness. 

It  was  a  wise  old  custom  that  of  keeping  open  table, 
for  even  the  bitterest  enemy's  hate  must  soften  while 
his  host  is  feeding  him.  As  Eddie  and  I  ate  from  a 
tray  at  a  corner  of  the  table,  enmity  died  down,  and 
with  the  acknowledgment  of  how  much  I  had  hurt 
him,  remorse  came.  He  had  been  so  proud  of  this 
[206] 


The  New  Country 


home,  so  keen  to  give  me  plenty  of  money,  and  if  he 
would  not  give  me  the  thing  I  wanted  most,  was  it 
his  fault  that  his  nature  drove  him  to  this  struggle 
for  success? 

"  I'm  sorry  I  was  cross,"  I  said  presently.  "  I  was 
tired  with  the  heat  and  noise  and  I'm  always  worrying 
about  the  war  and  every  one  over  there." 

"  I  know,  it's  terrible,  it  makes  your  blood  boil. 
We  must  help  all  we  can.  Dad  and  I  sent  off  a  check 
to-day,  as  much  as  we  could,"  he  added  awkwardly. 

My  heart  opened  completely  in  a  flood  of  tender- 
ness. He  did  care.  I  had  misjudged  him,  I  had 
misjudged  many,  with  us  in  heart  and  sympathy.  The 
sense  of  being  alone,  antagonistic,  amid  wealth  and 
comfort  faded  into  a  sweetening  bond  of  unity. 

I  stood  up  and  my  arms  went  out  to  him.  He 
turned  quickly  and  his  strength  crushed  my  body. 
"  It's  terrible  to  me  to  think  that  I'm  not  making  you 
happy." 

"  You  are,"  I  said  emphatically,  for  in  the  renewed 
happiness  of  reconciliation,  the  misery  of  the  day  faded 
into  a  pale  hue  which  at  the  moment  was  scarcely 
visible. 


Chapter  Eight 


IN  the  softened  mood  of  reconciliation  I  took  Mary 
Harden's  advice  and  joined  the  Red  Cross  where 
Mrs.  Boynton  was  already  an  ardent  worker.  But 
there  were  still  many  hours  of  idleness  which  beat 
against  my  determination  not  to  long  for  Meadow- 
mere.  As  I  sat  in  the  warm  workroom  with  the  con- 
tinual roar  of  traffic  and  occasional  sharper  crash  of 
trolley-gong  or  automobile  klaxon,  the  gauze  bandages 
with  which  my  fingers  were  busy  did  not  occupy  my 
thoughts.  They  would  return  to  Meadowmere,  they 
would  return  to  the  longing  to  be  there,  to  be  among 
those  who  were  helping  actively,  anxiously,  and  once 
hot  tears  dropped  on  to  the  bandage  so  that  I  had 
to  hide  it  out  of  sight.  And  gradually  that  insidious 
resentment  crept  in  again — why  couldn't  we  go  back 
to  Meadowmere  ?  It  was  only  because  of  Eddie's  stub- 
born will.  I  knew  he  could  make  money  in  England 
just  as  well  as  here,  for  Mr.  Haselton  had  laughingly 
said, 

"  Well,  Boynton,  if  you  want  a  job  in  London,  you 
can  always  come  to  us!  " 

He  could  go,  but  he  wouldn't.  Resentment  crushed 
down  the  suggestion  which  common  sense  had  ready 
— that  if  Eddie's  business  were  in  London,  it  would 
[208] 


The  New  Country 


be  impossible  to  live  in  Sunnydale,  it  was  too  far 
away;  it  could  be  managed — somehow. 

But  he  didn't  care  to  do  anything  I  wanted,  terribly, 
longingly.  And  this  feeling  simmered,  eating  into  my 
mind  and  many  empty  hours,  into  my  body  and  nerves. 
How  I  had  laughed  at  any  one  who  had  complained 
of  nerves!  Now  I  was  conscious  of  nothing  but 
nerves,  each  one  throbbing  from  a  different  angle, 
making  me  feel  sometimes  as  though  I  must  scream, 
as  though  I  were  filled  by  the  one  savage  desire,  to 
hurt  some  one  and  make  them  suffer  too. 

When  Eddie  came  home  after  such  a  day  I  could 
not  refrain  from  asking  him  again  if  he  wouldn't  take 
a  holiday,  even  a  week.  He  needed  it  as  badly  as  I 
did,  he  looked  tired  and  his  easy  temper  was  jumpy. 
"  Let's  go,"  I  said  coaxingly,  "  leave  all  this  stupid 
business  just  for  a  week." 

"What,  with  the  market  like  this!  I  can't.  I'd 
like  to,  God  knows,  but  I  can't." 

I  flung  away  from  him  in  anger.  "  No,  you  don't 
love  me  enough  to  give  up  anything  for  me,  you 
always  want  the  giving  up  to  be  on  my  side." 

"  That's  not  true.  I'm  working  and  grinding 
all  day  and  every  day  to  give  you  everything  you  want 
because  I  love  you." 

"  No,"  I  flared  hotly,  "  it's  because  I  happen  to  be 
your  wife.  Even  if  you  hated  me,  you'd  go  on  doing 
it,  because  I  was  your  wife.  It's  the  caveman  instinct 
to  be  proud  of  decking  his  woman  in  the  finest  he  can 
get  just  to  show  that  he  has  been  successful  in  the 

[209] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


fight.  It's  not  love  for  me,  it's  pride  in  showing  what 
you  can  give  your  wife.  You  like  to  have  one  of  the 
women  I  meet  go  back  to  her  husband  and  say,  '  Mrs. 
Boynton  had  another  new  dress  on  to-day,  a  perfect 
peach ! '  and  for  the  man  to  reply — with  a  sigh — '  Gee, 
Ed  Boynton  must  be  doing  mighty  well ! ' 

"  What  more  can  I  do  ?  Don't  I  give  you  all  I  can, 
all  the  money  you  want  ?  " 

"  Money,  money,  I  am  sick  of  hearing  that  word. 
I  want  peace,  the  right  to  live,  not  be  just  a  spending 
machine.  I  want  a  home.  You  give  me  money,  in 
fact  everything  but  the  one  thing  I  want  and  which 
would  be  some  little  sacrifice  to  you." 

"  You've  made  your  choice,"  he  said  coldly,  "  I'm 
doing  the  best  I  can  for  you." 

I  became  less  ashamed  after  each  one  of  these  scenes 
which  happened  with  increasing  frequency.  Harshly, 
critically,  I  blamed  Eddie.  The  shadow  grew  more 
definite.  Though  we  made  no  actual  difference  in  the 
way  we  lived,  the  heart  was  taken  out  of  our  relations 
by  the  constant  friction.  Lacking  companionship  and 
tenderness,  lacking  the  spontaneous  overflowing  love 
of  the  early  months  of  marriage,  they  became  sordid, 
leaving  no  poignant  memories  behind. 

What  a  contrast  we  offered  to  the  people  who  re- 
turned from  the  cool  mountains  or  the  breezy  sea 
with  fresh  spirit  and  gay  voices!  Maisie  was  radiant 
in  the  sun  of  a  new  admiration  and  again  I  wondered 
at  her  husband's  tolerance.  I  had  often  been  surprised 
at  the  evident  acceptance  of  Clarrie's  dog-like  devotion 

[210] 


The  New  Country 


which  was  displayed  by  her  mother,  and  still  more 
that  it  should  be  displayed  by  her  husband.  To  be 
sure  this  Clarrie  seemed  harmless,  with  little  to  do  and 
plenty  of  money  and  I  don't  believe  Maisie  cared  two 
straws  about  him,  or  any  one  else  for  that  matter.  I 
believe  she  was  too  cold  and  selfish  to  care  for  a  man 
except  as  a  universal  provider  of  universal  clothes, 
which  position  her  husband  had  the  honour  of  trying 
to  fill.  And  Clarrie  was  merely  useful  to  take  her  out 
to  lunches  or  dances  or  dinners  when  her  husband  was 
too  busy  providing  money.  But  the  thing  was  all 
wrong. 

And  with  the  new  admirer  it  seemed  to  me  it  was 
likely  to  be  still  further  wrong.  For  he  was  a  very 
different  type  to  the  gentle  Clarrie  and  I  disliked  and 
distrusted  him,  not  troubling  to  conceal  such  feelings. 
And  thus  when  it  happened  that  on  one  of  the  rare 
occasions  on  which  Eddie  had  found  time  to  take  me 
out  to  lunch,  Maisie  and  this  man  came  into  the  hotel, 
choosing  a  table  next  to  ours,  I  barely  spoke.  Maisie 
was  never  embarrassed  but  I  was  and  this  emphasised 
my  cold  reserve. 

When  we  had  left  them,  Eddie  said  impatiently, 
"  I  do  wish  you'd  be  civil  to  people  we  meet.  He's 
a  friend  of  my  sister's  whatever  you  may  think  of 
him." 

"  He  ought  not  to  be!  If  you  weren't  so  engrossed 
in  your  business,  you'd  recognise  that  he's  an  out- 
sider." 

"  Oh  shucks !  "  he  exclaimed  savagely,  "  you're  a 

[211] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


darned  sight  too  critical.  Maisie  can  look  after  her- 
self, she's  too  clever  to  have  any  real  quarrel  with 
Jack.  I  do  wish  you'd  take  people  as  you  find  them. 
It  would  be  much  pleasanter  for  everybody,  and  in- 
stead of  moping  around  and  looking  haughty,  why 
don't  you  go  out  more  and  enjoy  yourself — let  yourself 
go!" 

A  slow  growing  anger  blurred  my  eyes.  The  man 
by  my  side  became  remote,  inimical ;  all  the  intimate 
moments  of  emotion  which  had  made  a  unity  of  two 
individuals  became  as  dead  as  though  they  had  never 
been.  In  the  heart  of  the  cold  woman  who  stood  aloof 
was  a  bitter  hatred.  He  criticised  me  because  I  dis- 
approved of  a  married  woman  fluttering  around  in  this 
constant  glitter  of  admiration.  Because  I  held  aloof 
from  this  extravagant  crowd  of  women,  who  got  their 
husbands  into  debt,  who  kept  them  at  the  wheel  to 
gratify  their  extravagance.  I  saw  in  him  only  the 
man  who  had  conquered  my  instinct  for  remaining  in 
the  place  I  loved  and  brought  me  into  the  midst  of 
strangers,  and  having  attained  his  own  passion  for 
getting  the  thing  he  wanted,  found  me  no  longer  of 
any  value. 

My  mother's  words  blazed  in  my  memory — "  If  you 
take  her  away  from  Meadowmere,  you  will  rue  it  all 
your  life." 

Very  well,  he  should  rue  it — I  would — a  fury  shook 
my  voice.  "  All  right,  I'll  let  myself  go,  and  if  I  go 
too  far,  you'll  have  yourself  to  blame!" 

[212] 


BOOK  FIVE:  DEFIANCE 


BOOK  FIVE:   DEFIANCE 
Chapter  One 


AS  I  lay  awake  with  the  sound  of  Eddie's  steady 
breathing  in  my  ears,  it  seemed  incredible  that 
his  nearness  had  ever  thrilled  me,  that  I  had  ever  had 
an  overmastering  impulse  towards  the  shelter  of  his 
arms.  In  the  cold  enmity  of  the  woman  who  had  been 
growing  so  magically  older  in  a  few  months,  there 
seemed  to  be  left  no  trace  of  the  pliant  girl  with  her 
intense  need  for  love  and  sympathy.  The  shadow  now 
stood  forth,  endurably,  menacing  the  future,  but  the 
old  fear  with  which  I  had  viewed  it  had  changed  into 
defiance. 

He  had  criticised  me  because  of  my  instinctive  rever- 
ence for  marriage.  Deliberately  I  remembered  his 
short  refusals  to  my  few  requests,  the  many  indica- 
tions that  having  got  what  he  wanted,  he  had  become 
indifferent.  Pride  whispered  that  I  owed  it  to  myself 
to  prove  that  I  too  did  not  care. 

I  would  unshrinkingly  plan  a  future  without  tender- 
ness, in  which  the  old  lack  of  self-confidence  should 
change  into  a  perpetual  demand  for  amusement, 
clothes,  admiration,  sensations,  everything  which 
Maisie  seemed  to  find  so  satisfying.  I  would  crush 

[215] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


out  the  longing  for  Meadowmere,  stifle  anxiety  about 
the  war,  become  a  mere  butterfly.  It  must  be  possible 
to  acquire  this  attitude,  and  the  time  must  come  when 
I  should  be  completely  independent  of  tenderness,  able 
to  stand  alone,  going  my  own  way  in  a  triumphant 
surety  and  with  no  necessity  to  plead  to  my  husband 
for  happiness. 

Eddie  awoke  the  next  morning  in  high  good 
humour. 

"  Hello,  kid,  what  are  you  going  to  do  to-day?  "  he 
asked  in  a  cheerful  tone  as  he  came  back  from  his 
bath.  It  seemed  impossible  that  this  youthful,  smiling 
figure,  with  hair  standing  wildly  in  a  wet  and  rumpled 
mass  could  be  the  hard  driving  man  of  business  with 
the  cold  definite  note  of  refusal  in  his  voice.  I  looked 
at  him  amazedly.  Apparently  he  had  forgotten  his 
words  of  the  day  before,  or  if  he  remembered  them 
they  seemed  unimportant,  not  worth  the  mentioning. 
He  did  not  realise  that  they  had  brought  us  to  an 
impasse,  that  hitherto  life  would  go  on  differently. 
"All  right,  Mr.  Edward  Boynton!"  I  thought 
viciously,  "  You'll  see !  " 

"  I'm  going  shopping,"  I  answered  coldly. 

"  Fine !  Hope  you  get  something  pretty  and " 

His  voice  trailed  away  into  a  series  of  grunts,  as  with 
a  reddened  face  he  struggled  with  a  tie  which  would 
not  slip.  His  entire  interest  was  centred  in  it,  he 
really  did  not  care  what  I  was  going  to  do — the  ques- 
tion had  just  been  one  of  idle  good  humour! 

Still  whistling  cheerily  he  went  in  to  breakfast,  but 
[216] 


Defiance 

in  a  moment  was  back  with  a  letter.  "  It's  from 
Robert  Haselton.  Says  he's  coming  to  New  York  in 
about  a  month.  Can  we  put  him  up,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Perhaps  he'd  rather  stay  at  a  hotel,  but  ask 
him  here  by  all  means  if  you  wish,"  I  answered 
casually. 

I  had  a  momentary  vision  of  worldly  blue  eyes  and 
of  an  extreme  courtesy  to  me  which  yet  held  something 
satirical,  disturbing.  But  I  was  glad  he  was  coming. 
At  any  rate  he  was  familiar  with  Sunnydale,  and  the 
prospect  introduced  a  note  of  excitement  into  the 
future  I  had  planned.  For  it  took  all  my  pride  to 
resist  the  thought  which  labelled  it  "  depressing." 

As  soon  as  Eddie  had  gone  and  with  the  desire  for 
outward  expression  of  my  new  determination,  I  called 
up  Maisie.  If  he  wanted  for  his  wife  one  of  those 
smart  women  who  were  always  gadding  about,  who 
spent  her  husband's  money  as  if  it  were  sand,  who 
fluttered  out  to  restaurant  and  cabaret  with  some 
other  man  whose  money  was  as  plentiful  as  his  time 
was  free — he  should  have  it!  Again  I  resisted  a 
thought  which  suggested  that  hitherto  no  man  had 
shown  any  overmastering  desire  for  introducing  me 
to  such  "  fluttering." 

The  first  step  in  the  new  program  was  the  purchase 
of  fitting  clothes.  I  was  tired  of  being  quiet  and  do- 
mestic; no  happiness  had  come  out  of  it,  so  I  would 
try  the  other  way. 

"Hello,  Maisie!  Do  you  want  to  come  with  me 
on  a  shopping  bout?  I'd  like  to  have  your  advice." 

[217] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


It  was  scarcely  necessary  to  appeal  to  her  vanity, 
for  to  Maisie  the  simple  act  of  spending  money  was  a 
never-failing  source  of  excitement  while  the  thought 
of  buying  clothes  was  as  much  a  lure  to  her  as  the 
most  thrilling  drama  that  was  ever  produced. 

"  Sure,"  she  answered,  surprise  in  her  voice,  "  What 
do  you  want?  " 

"  Oh,  lots  of  things,  an  evening  dress,  a  suit,  etc., 
and  I  want  them  smart  and  chic.  I  am  tired  of  my 
dowdy  clothes.  Do  you  think  Madam  will  forgive  me 
for  sending  back  that  first  dress,  and  receive  me 
again  ?  " 

"I  should  say!  She  will  forgive  anything  if  it 
brings  money  to  her  fist." 

"  All  right,  I'll  call  for  you  and  take  you  out  to 
lunch,  then  we  can  have  a  regular  riot  of  spending." 

"  Has  Eddie  been  plunging  and  come  out  right?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  he's  been  doing,"  I  answered 
casually,  "  it's  I  who's  going  to  do  the  plunging." 

Mrs.  Boynton  kissed  me  with  her  usual  heartiness, 
as  she  said,  "  Hello,  Margaret!  What's  this  I  hear? 
The  spending  bug  has  got  hold  of  you  too.  All  you 
young  folks  seem  to  get  it  sooner  or  later." 

I  laughed.  "  It  seems  to  be  all  some  of  us  have 
to  do." 

She  glanced  at  me  shrewdly  with  her  kind  eyes. 

"  Maybe  that's  because  some  of  us  are  blind.  Aren't 
you  coming  with  me  to  the  rooms  this  afternoon?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered  quickly  and  defiantly,  "  I'm  not 
coming  any  more." 
[218] 


Defiance 

"  Little  quitter,  and  you  English,"  she  said  un- 
critically, almost  jokingly. 

But  the  words  stung  and  I  flung  up  my  head.  "  Not 
any  longer.  I'm  going  to  be  an  American  woman  like 
Maisie,  have  a  good  time  and  take  all  I  can  get." 
My  voice  rose  hysterically  as  I  tried  to  keep  it  light 
and  casual. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Land's  sake,"  she 
said  amiably,  "  you  don't  think  we're  all  such  butter- 
flies as  Maisie?  Well,  maybe  you'll  learn  some  day 
and  change  your  mind." 

And  as  we  were  rolling  comfortably  down  Fifth 
Avenue  in  the  sedan  the  memory  of  her  kind  eyes 
came  unpleasingly,  hauntingly  into  my  mood  of  de- 
fiance and  to  get  away  from  it  I  gaily  laid  before 
Maisie  the  prospect  of  the  visitor  we  expected. 

"Haselton!  Isn't  that  the  man  you  were  engaged 
to?" 

"  No,  his  brother,"  I  answered,  as  lightly,  trying  to 
keep  down  a  blush. 

Her  eyebrows  lifted.  "Oh,  I  see!  So  that's  the 
reason  for  the  clothes?  " 

I  started.  The  connection  hadn't  occurred  to  me, 
the  desire  to  get  some  clothes  of  an  extreme  fashion 
being  a  single  one,  springing  from  rebellion.  But  at 
Maisie's  words  my  abstract  summing  up  of  the  smart 
wife  became  vital,  vivid,  raising  a  demon  in  my  mind. 

From  under  the  attitude  of  cold  defiance  a  rush  of 
exciting  reckless  suggestions  emerged.  Breathlessly  I 
realised  that  there  was  danger  in  this  mood,  but  danger 

[219] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


leavened  monotony.  Perhaps  this  self-confident,  dic- 
tatorial young  man  would  learn  that  he  could  not  neg- 
lect me ! 

And  so  I  stifled  my  first  impulse  indignantly  to  deny 
the  connection  between  the  clothes  and  Mr.  Haselton, 
and,  with  a  light  laugh,  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  it's  just  that  I  think  I  have  domesticated 
long  enough.  I'm  going  to  see  what  the  other  kind 
of  life  is  like." 

But  I  knew  Maisie's  own  experience  would  insist  on 
the  connection.  And  somehow  I  felt  a  gratifying  sug- 
gestion of  worldliness,  of  complacency  in  meeting  her 
standards. 

As  we  were  lunching,  Clarrie  turned  up,  amazingly 
true  to  the  instinct  which  seemed  to  enable  him  to  pick 
out  the  exact  spot  which  happened  to  contain  Maisie, 
who  still  tolerated  him  in  spite  of  the  more  definite 
attractions  of  Roland. 

The  demon  she  had  suggested  became  mischievously 
active;  for  the  first  time  I  hid  the  indifference  I  had 
always  felt  for  this  rather  colourless  young  man;  for 
the  first  time  I  chatted  and  laughed  with  him,  for  the 
first  time  I  made  a  real  effort  to  please.  The  cocktail 
I  had  drunk  had  sent  the  colour  to  my  cheeks  and 
sparkle  to  my  tongue  and  the  knowledge  that  Maisie's 
eyes  had  been  fixed  on  me  as  I  carelessly  tossed  it 
down  in  imitation  of  her  ease,  emphasised  my  new 
attitude;  for  previously  I  had  made  a  point  of  avoid- 
ing them. 

Soon  I  noticed  that  Clarrie  seemed  to  be  aware  of 
[220  ] 


Defiance 

my  presence,  that  there  was  a  definite  change  in  his 
previous  attitude  which  had  always  suggested  that  he 
regarded  me  as  something  of  a  solid  nature  which 
happened  to  be  taking  up  part  of  the  space  around  him. 
My  recklessness  increased;  so  did  this  new  and  heady 
feeling,  the  desire  to  please.  Maisie's  look  gradually 
grew  sulky,  for  she  did  not  like  her  own  particular 
star  to  be  obscured,  and  soon  dismissing  Clarrie  she 
took  me  on  to  Madam's. 

This  time  I  chose  one  of  the  most  daring  evening 
dresses  I  could  find.  It  was  tulle  of  a  skilful  blending 
of  colours — from  the  deep  blood  glow  of  old  Bur- 
gundy to  the  palest  shade  of  a  blown  rose.  For  the 
moment  I  thought  of  a  laughing  Bacchante  clothed  in 
just  such  a  dress,  holding  up  a  sparkling  glass  filled 
with  the  same  deep  red  glow  of  wine.  I  said  I  would 
have  it  before  I  knew  the  price. 

"It's  a  dream!  "  said  Maisie,  "  you'll  look  stunning, 
if  you  have  as  much  colour  as  you  have  now." 

"  Oh,  it's  easy  to  make  sure  of  that,"  I  answered 
Hghtly,  and  to  her  further  astonishment  I  bought  some 
rouge.  I  had  condemned  the  practice  so  often  that  she 
might  well  wonder.  As  we  went  home,  I  noticed  her 
puzzled  glances.  I  could  guess  what  she  was  think- 
ing, that  this  change  in  me  was  due  to  the  desire  to 
please  Mr.  Robert  Haselton. 

Involuntarily  I  shivered.  For  against  my  will  my 
heart  was  aching  with  a  miserable  pain.  I  hated  him, 
I  hated  everybody — and  this  was  the  outcome  of 
barely  a  year's  marriage.  But  I  stamped  out  the 

[221] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


pain  by  an  appeal  to  this  new  attitude  of  defiance,  and 
pride  added  the  necessary  resistance.  "Let  yourself 
go!  "  he  had  said.  Eddie  should  certainly  have  what 
he  wanted,  I  thought  scornfully. 

He  came  in  unusually  early  as  I  was  changing  for 
dinner  and  his  voice  was  cheerful  as  he  said,  "  Well, 
this  is  pretty  good,  isn't  it?  I  determined  to  chuck 
everything  for  once — and  here  I  am." 

"What  self-sacrifice!"  I  exclaimed,  not  interrupt- 
ing the  process  of  brushing  my  hair. 

His  face  was  reflected  in  the  mirror  and  I  could 
see  the  smile  change  to  a  puzzled  look.  "  Gee,  what  a 
hearty  welcome,"  he  said  ruefully,  and  taking  a  quick 
step  towards  me,  with  his  hands  on  my  bare  shoulders, 
he  twisted  me  around.  "  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say 
to  me?" 

I  held  my  eyes  to  their  cool  defiance.  "  Good 
heavens,  Eddie,  you  might  have  come  from  a  long 
absence  at  the  North  Pole!  " 

His  hands  fell  swiftly  and  his  face  set  into  ugly 
lines. 

"  It's  a  pity  I  made  an  effort  to  get  off  good  and 
early  if  that's  how  you  feel." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  let  me  interfere  with  business 
again,"  I  retorted  lightly.  But  my  heart  was  beating 
with  an  undercurrent  of  fear  for,  in  spite  of  pride,  I 
knew  that  I  was  completely  burning  all  my  boats, 
setting  more  rigidly  that  shadow  over  the  future. 

Yet  all  through  dinner  I  kept  up  the  attitude  of 
amiable  tolerance  and  when  Eddie  got  up  abruptly, 
[  222  ] 


Defiance 

saying,  "  I'm  going  back  to  the  office,"  I  answered 
sweetly, 

"  I  supposed  you  would.  But  I  shan't  be  lonely,  I'm 
going  out  with  Maisie." 

To  be  truthful  the  statement  anticipated  any  ar- 
rangement but  when  I  called  her  on  the  'phone  she 
eagerly  agreed  to  the  suggestion,  adding,  "  Gee,  Mar- 
garet, you  certainly  have  developed  a  sudden  craze  for 
the  gay  life!  Who  can  we  get  to  go  with  us?  Jack's 
not  in  yet." 

"  Do  we  need  any  one  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  we  do,"  she  answered  sharply  and  I 
wondered  that  Maisie,  who  gave  an  impression  of 
extreme  freedom  should  be  so  conventional  in  actual 
fact.  "  I'll  call  Clarrie,  and  then  if  Jack  comes  in  soon 
we  can  make  a  four." 

"  All  right,  I'll  be  along  in  half  an  hour." 

Jack  was  still  missing  when  I  joined  the  party  of 
two  and  thus  Clarrie's  attentions  were  divided  between 
us.  He  was  scrupulously  careful  to  dance  alternately 
with  Maisie  and  me,  and  as  I  was  waiting  for  them 
to  return,  eagerly  interested  in  the  vague  excitement 
which  surrounded  me,  a  stranger  came  up  to  our 
table  and  with  extreme  self-possession  said  affably, 
"  Would  you  care  to  dance  this  with  me?  " 

Instinct  set  my  face  into  haughty  annoyance — what 
fearful  presumption!  .  .  .  "Let  yourself  go!" 
...  I  found  myself  assenting  with  a  casual  smile 
and  we  were  out  on  the  floor. 

Underneath  the  pleasurable  sense  of  daring  was 

[223] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


amazement  at  myself,  still  more  at  the  extraordinary 
freedom  of  this  kind  of  life;  for  my  partner  did  not 
seem  to  be  meditating  any  sinister  designs,  and  when 
it  was  over  he  accompanied  me  to  my  seat  with  an 
expression  of  pleasure — and  it  was  ended.  He  had 
wanted  to  dance,  I  lacked  a  partner,  that  was  all  there 
was  to  it  as  Maisie  would  have  said. 

"  Who  was  that?  "  she  asked  inquisitively. 

"  I  haven't  an  idea." 

She  looked  at  me  with  lifted  brows.  "  Say,  Mar- 
garet, it  does  seem  as  though  I  ought  to  tip  Eddie  the 
wink  that  he  should  keep  an  eye  on  you.  When  you 
once  get  started  you're  some  little  speeder! " 

Eddie  was  asleep  when  I  reached  home,  or  pretend- 
ing to  be,  and  with  the  feeling  that  yesterday  was  years 
away,  that  I  had  lived  through  ages  since  then,  I  slept 
immediately,  without  thought,  remorse  or  longing. 

So  I  cultivated  Maisie  and  her  friends,  I  imitated 
their  easy  manner,  their  assurance,  their  light  laughs, 
their  wonderful  costumes.  I  gave  several  luncheon 
parties,  at  a  fashionable  hotel,  of  course,  as  my  home 
was  not  fitted  for  smart  entertaining.  A  new  grow- 
ing self-possession  loosened  my  tongue  and  with  the 
help  of  a  cocktail  I  could  chatter  and  laugh  as  smartly 
as  any  of  the  gay  crowd,  which  first  wondered,  then 
accepted  me;  soon  I  became  a  necessary  adjunct  to 
their  parties,  a  fashion  as  it  were. 

I  did  not  find  it  difficult  to  continue  smiling  sweetly 
upon  Clarrie,  he  was  a  nice  boy  at  heart,  and  fortu- 
nately my  aversion  to  Roland  did  not  have  to  be  over- 
[224] 


Defiance 

come,  for  he  remained  in  favour  for  a  very  short  time. 
I  believe  that  Maisie  had  not  been  able  to  convince  him 
that  in  spite  of  her  acceptance  of  his  interest,  she  had 
a  rigid  regard  for  the  proprieties,  and  so  he  had  van- 
ished. That  was  one  of  the  things  which  continually 
amazed  me — that  Clarrie  was  content  to  dance  at- 
tendance upon  her  in  this  neutral  character  of  a 
friend.  For  as  I  began  to  know  her  better  I  realised 
that  Maisie  considered  her  smiles,  her  chatter,  her  won- 
derful appearance  and  excellent  dancing  an  ample 
reward  to  any  cavalier  who  liked  to  take  her  to  places 
where  these  things  shone.  If  he  "got  fresh"  as  she 
termed  it,  she  was  quite  capable  of  summarily  rejecting 
him.  That  was  perhaps  why  Jack  offered  no  open  ob- 
jections; he  understood  her  perfectly.  Nevertheless 
I  regarded  his  tolerance  with  contempt. 


[225] 


Chapter  Two 


IN  my  search  for  a  new  attitude  towards  life,  two 
weeks  went  by,  and  still  Mr.  Haselton  had  not 
arrived.  In  the  two  weeks  nothing  had  happened  to 
interfere  with  an  increasing  round  of  gaieties — indeed 
nothing  at  all  of  any  consequence  had  happened  except 
a  growing  estrangement  between  Eddie  and  me. 
There  were  days  when  we  scarcely  met,  when  after  a 
theatre  or  supper  party  I  would  be  too  tired  to  get  up 
for  breakfast,  and  he,  after  promising  to  come  to  such 
affairs,  would  'phone  that  he  was  kept  at  the  office. 
Each  occasion  hardened  my  resentment,  while  his 
former  cheeriness  of  manner  decreased;  the  old  self- 
confident,  sunny  buoyancy  degenerated  into  a  firmness 
which  was  almost  sullen,  and  when  he  came  home 
early  one  day  with  something  of  his  old  manner  visible, 
I  was  surprised  into  asking,  "What's  happened?" 

"  I've  good  news.  I've  clinched  a  job  as  assistant 
consulting  engineer  to  the  Bolton  Company  at  five 
thousand.  They're  great  people,  always  putting  up 
new  plants,  and  the  old  chief  gets  a  dandy  figure.  It's 
the  beginning  I've  been  looking  for,  and  it's  not  come 
too  soon.  We  seem  to  get  through  the  dollars  quick 
enough." 

The  suggestion  of  criticism  in  the  last  sentence  held 
[226] 


Defiance 

in  check  my  pride  at  his  achievement.  "  That's  splen- 
did," I  said,  not  too  impulsively,  "  but  do  you  mean 
it's  all  settled?" 

"  Yes,  I  signed  the  contract  to-day." 

"  But — then "  With  the  realisation  that  such 

things  were  not  finished  in  a  day  and  that  he  had  never 
mentioned  that  he  was  trying  for  the  job,  I  asked  cas- 
ually, "  Then  you  have  known  about  it  for  some 
time?" 

"  Yes,  I  heard  about  it  a  month  ago,  but  there  was 
no  use  saying  anything  till  I  knew  it  was  sure,  for 
you'd  only  have  been  disappointed." 

He  treated  me  like  a  child !  He  wouldn't  tell  me  of 
an  important  step  which  affected  our  future  for  fear  I 
might  be  disappointed.  Or  still  more  likely  his  silence 
had  been  due  to  sheer  indifference. 

A  letter  was  brought  in.  It  was  from  Mr.  Haselton 
and  he  wrote,  "  I  am  sailing  on  the  Baltic  and  shall  be 
delighted  to  stay  with  you  a  little  while  after  my  ar- 
rival. For  a  week  I  think  I  ought  to  put  up  at  a 
hotel,  for  every  moment  will  be  taken  up  with  tire- 
some business  engagements.  After  that  I  hope  to  relax 
and  shall  look  forward  to  seeing  you  both." 

Both!  I  glanced  at  Eddie  from  under  my  lashes 
and  at  the  thought  of  disturbing  his  complacency,  ex- 
citement began  to  dance  in  my  veins.  I  foretasted  a 
delicious  triumph  in  making  Mr.  Edward  Boynton  rea- 
lise that  I  was  not  a  child,  that  I  could  very  successfully 
play  the  role  of  woman. 

As  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  anticipation,  there  was 

[227] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


another  thought  hammering  at  my  consciousness — a 
feeling  of  relief  that  it  was  not  Sir  Mark  who  was 
coming,  that  there  was  no  chance  of  a  sudden  meeting 
with  Mary  Harden.  For  even  in  the  short  time,  I  had 
changed  so  that  the  pose  which  was  at  first  an  effort 
was  becoming  easier,  more  natural.  I  found  that  there 
was  an  intoxication  in  this  round  of  gaiety,  so  long  as 
one  did  not  stop'  to  think,  that  it  was  easy  to  acquire 
the  smart  flippant  manner  which  passed  for  wit  and 
style. 

But  strangely  enough  though  Eddie  would  often 
laugh  at  a  retort  from  Maisie,  he  looked  annoyed  when 
I  attempted  an  imitation.  He  was  still  interested  in 
social  problems  when  he  could  spare  a  thought  from 
business  details,  and  one  evening  as  he  was  discuss- 
ing unemployment  with  a  friend  he'd  brought  home 
to  dinner,  I  interrupted  flippantly, 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  there  is  unemployment 
in  New  York.  Why,  the  powers  that  be  seem  to  have 
such  a  grudge  against  the  city  that  I  should  think  any 
man  with  nothing  to  do  would  be  just  handed  a  spade 
and  a  pick  and  told  to  go  and  dig.  It  wouldn't  matter 
much  where  he  went,  for  there'd  be  little  chance  that 
he  wouldn't  find  himself  next  to  some  one  else  who  was 
also  digging." 

The  guest  laughed  as  he  said,  "  It's  a  sign  of  our 
progressiveness,  Mrs.  Boynton.  We're  always  making 
improvements."  But  Eddie's  brows  were  creased  by  a 
prodigious  frown,  and  I  had  a  moment's  satisfaction 
in  feeling  that  I  had  penetrated  his  self-sufficiency. 
[228] 


Chapter  Three 

WHEN  Eddie  went  down  to  meet  Mr.  Haselton 
he  seemed  to  take  it  as  the  natural  course  that 
I  would  go  too.  But  gaily  I  made  the  excuse  of  an- 
other engagement  and  without  further  comment  he 
went  alone.  I  pulled  a  face  at  his  retreating  back — 
"  You'll  see !  "  I  thought  triumphantly. 

For  I  did  not  intend  to  meet  Mr.  Haselton  until  the 
stage  was  set  and  that  included  the  wearing  of  the 
red  dress  which  had  hung  in  my  wardrobe,  a  mute 
reminder  of  the  demon  of  recklessness. 

Three  days  later  when  the  stately  Robert  had  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  dinner,  I  put  on  the  flaming 
dress  with  a  feeling  of  inner  excitement  and  when  I 
was  ready  stood  before  the  mirror. 

For  a  moment  the  mist  of  memory  obscured  the 
actual  figure,  as  I  seemed  to  see  a  picture  of  very  long 
ago;  a  girl  in  a  simple  white  dress  with  a  young  and 
happy  belief  in  her  future  of  dreams. 

I  smiled  bitterly  and  a  woman  smiled  back  at  me, 
with  shining  and  excited  eyes.  They  had  lost  their 
wistfulness,  but  they  had  not  gained  content.  Under- 
neath the  smile  was  disillusion,  unhappiness.  How 
had  that  great-grandmother  of  mine  gained  that  proud 
happy  contentment  ? 

[229] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Then  I  glanced  down  triumphantly  at  my  dress  of 
filmy  tulle,  and  in  spite  of  defiance  my  cheeks  slowly 
reddened.  For  the  dress  was  such  a  long  way  off. 
Before  my  eyes  reached  it  they  had  to  travel  over  an 
endless  expanse  of  white  flesh — white  arms,  and  shoul- 
ders and  neck,  the  line  only  broken  by  a  narrow  band 
of  glittering  stuff  over  the  shoulders,  and  a  narrow 
band  of  bodice  holding  the  filmy  skirt. 

I  broke  off  one  of  the  roses  from  the  huge  bouquet 
which  had  come  from  Mr.  Haselton,  and  tucked  it  in 
my  dark  hair.  And  as  I  surveyed  the  picture  my  eyes 
danced  again  and  I  whispered  delightedly,  "  You  are 
beautiful,  Carmen!" 

I  heard  Eddie's  latch  key.  He  looked  weary  as  he 
came  to  the  bedroom  door,  and  stopped. 

"  Rather  pretty,  isn't  it?  "  I  asked  casually. 

"  Yes,  what  there  is  of  it,"  he  answered  just  as 
casually.  But  the  touch  of  disapproval  in  his  quiet 
tone  hardened  me  and  I  retorted  flippantly, 

"  Oh,  it's  quite  the  latest  fashion  I  can  assure  you. 
Don't  you  think  Mr.  Haselton  will  feel  honoured?" 

Does  that  make  you  jealous,  I  wondered?  For  I 
had  never  worn  the  dress,  never  shown  it  to  Eddie. 

To  my  astonishment  a  thought  swept  over  me,  sting- 
ing my  eyes  to  sudden  moisture.  If  only  he  were  kind, 
if  only  he  would  tell  me  he  liked  the  old  wife  best, 
that  this  new  fashionable  woman  was  not  the  girl  he 
had  married,  that  he  wanted  that  girl  back  again!  I 
was  amazed  by  the  keenness  of  the  sudden  ache,  by 
the  break  in  my  studied  defiance,  a  break  which  dis- 
[230] 


Defiance 

closed  the  desire  for  the  old  close  intimacy  and  tender- 
ness. It  frightened  me,  disturbed  my  growing  confi- 
dence. 

As  Eddie  turned  away  without  another  look,  carry- 
ing his  shaving  tackle  into  the  bathroom,  pride  helped 
me  to  crush  down  these  feelings.  He  didn't  care,  why 
shouldn't  I  enjoy  myself,  wring  something  out  of  life 
to  compensate  for  what  it  had  lost. 

When  Mr.  Haselton  arrived  I  had  my  little  triumph. 
Even  with  his  easy  self-possession  he  could  not  hide  a 
moment  of  sheer  astonishment;  then  the  old  raillery 
had  taken  its  place  and  he  was  greeting  me  with  his 
polished  manner.  But  I  was  satisfied. 

I  had  invited  Maisie  and  her  husband,  a  pretty  fair 
girl  called  Anna  Kremlin,  and  another  pair  by  the 
name  of  Martin;  they  were  all  young,  gay,  eager  for 
pleasure,  a  fitting  crowd  to  greet  the  woman  in  the 
flaming  dress. 

"How  is  Sir  Mark?"  I  asked  under  cover  of  the 
chatter. 

"  He's  still  safe,"  and  I  thought  he  added  a  "  Thank 
God!  "  For  a  moment  the  deeper  feeling  which  ap- 
peared on  Mr.  Haselton's  worldly  face  brought  before 
me  the  kind  blue  eyes  and  fine  straight  glance  of  the 
man  who  was  now  fighting  in  the  trenches  while  we 
were  making  merry,  and  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Boyn- 
ton's  words — "  Little  quitter  " — stung.  I  caught 
Maisie's  glance  as  it  travelled  from  me  to  Mr.  Hasel- 
ton and  for  a  moment  the  old  Margaret  which  the 
thought  of  Sir  Mark  had  brought  uppermost  indig- 

[231] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


nantly  repudiated  even  the  suspicion  of  such  associa- 
tion ;  then  as  Maisie's  eyes  narrowed  into  their  meaning 
smile,  Eddie's  words  flashed  into  my  mind  and  I  whis- 
pered to  myself,  "  My  dear  Margaret,  you  are  too 
prudish !  "  With  a  light  laugh  I  turned  again  to  the 
visitor  and  deliberately  began  the  new  reckless  game 
of  enticement. 

According  to  the  gaiety  and  laughter,  trie  evening 
was  a  great  success,  but  when  they  had  all  gone  I 
thought  of  that  first  evening  and  the  way  in  which 
Eddie  had  seized  my  hands ;  we  were  such  good  friends 
then.  To-night  he  sighed  as  if  with  relief  and  throw- 
ing himself  into  his  chair,  he  lit  a  cigar  and  stared 
moodily  at  his  shoes. 

For  the  minute  a  feeling  of  pity  made  me  wish  to 
stroke  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead  and  soothe  the 
moody  lines,  but  suddenly  he  laughed ;  it  was  an  ugly 
bitter  laugh,  and  my  heart  hardened  and  I  went  to 
bed. 

We  were  to  have  lunch  with  Mr.  Haselton  the  next 
day,  but  at  the  last  moment  Eddie  telephoned  to  say 
he  was  kept  in  the  office  by  an  important  client — "  But 
you  need  not  stay  away  on  that  account." 

"  Thank  you !  "  I  answered  ironically. 

Though  there  was  just  the  right  amount  of  polite 
regret  at  my  husband's  absence  in  Mr.  Haselton's  voice, 
I  thought  I  could  still  detect  that  undernote  of  raillery. 
I  really  did  dislike  him. 

"  And  how  is  London  looking  ?  "  I  asked  in  the 
light  tone  I  was  cultivating. 

[232] 


Defiance 

"  London  looks  splendid — but  don't  you  want  to 
know  about  somewhere  else?  " 

"You  mean?" 

"Sunnydale!" 

My  heart  contracted — Sunnydale,  Meadowmere. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  been  there  lately  ?  " 
There  was  no  lightness  left  in  my  voice  then. 

"  Just  before  I  sailed.  I  thought  you  would  want 
to  know  all  the  latest  news."  I  knew  a  momentary 
trouble  at  the  implication  that  he  had  gone  there  spe- 
cially on  my  account,  then  everything  else  was  for- 
gotten as  I  poured  out  my  questions  about  the  place  I 
loved. 

"  I  have  been  everywhere.  I  saw  Martha,  who  told 
me  that  Nancy  was  getting  on  splendidly  and  judging 
from  her  letters  was  very  happy.  I  talked  to  the 
smith's  wife  and  saw  the  latest  baby.  I  inspected  your 
cottages,  which,  by  the  way,  are  models  of  perfection. 
Every  one  sent  their  love,  including  Mark." 

"  You  saw  him,  too." 

"  I  spent  a  whole  day  with  him  when  he  had  a  short 
leave  just  before  going  out.  Poor  fellow,  I  don't  sup- 
pose he'll  get  another  leave  for  ages — every  man's 
wanted  so  badly." 

"And  Meadowmere?" 

"  It's  full  of  beds,  full  of  men  who  are  quietly  happy 
with  the  peace  of  those  who  have  come  from  no  peace. 
Mrs.  Miller's  organisation  of  it  as  a  convalescent 
home  is  so  perfect  that  there's  a  rumour  that  the  Hall 
will  also  be  included  in  her  scheme.  She  seems  to  be 

[233] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


engrossed  by  her  new  role,  in  which  she  shines  with 
her  usual  efficient  grace.  I  went  all  through.  There 
was  one  smallish  room,  on  the  second  floor  looking 
right  into  the  woods " 

"On  the  extreme  left?" 

He  nodded,  perhaps  surprised  by  the  eagerness  of 
my  interruption.  "  And  in  it  was  a  Canadian  officer, 
suffering  from  shell-shock.  He  had  an  enormous 
frame,  he  must  have  been  one  of  those  husky  chaps 
which  nothing  would  seem  capable  of  touching,  and 
here  he  was  as  helpless  as  a  child,  nervous,  irritable, 
haunted.  I  was  turning  away  in  the  fear  that  I  was 
disturbing  him,  when  I  saw  him  settle  down  and  a 
suggestion  of  peace  come  into  his  drawn  face.  The 
wind  had  freshened  and  just  outside  the  window  the 
trees  began  to  stir,  a  rustling  thrashing  sound  which  I 
thought  both  melancholy  and  disagreeable.  But  the 
strange  part  was  that  this  poor  fellow  loved  the  sound ; 
on  a  calm  day  he  was  restless,  but  as  soon  as  the  trees 
began  the  murmur  of  their  presence  he  became  quieter. 
They  reminded  him  of  his  own  woods  he  had 
said." 

He,  too,  loved  the  sound!  This  man  who  was 
slowly  coming  back  to  life  in  the  room  which  had  been 
my  own  for  nineteen  years ! 

I  bent  my  head  as  the  surroundings  faded  in  a  blur 
of  tears. 

But  Mr.  Haselton  went  on  in  a  voice  low  and  sym- 
pathetic holding  me  spellbound  by  his  knack  of  pic- 
turing the  places  I  loved.  I  forgot  his  personality,  my 

[234] 


Defiance 

troubles,  everything  in  the  physical  and  mental  ten- 
sity of  listening.  And  as  he  told  me  that  poor  old 
Bruno  was  dead,  the  old  Margaret  had  completely 
triumphed  over  the  artificial  woman  she  was  trying 
to  erect. 

"  Thank  you  for  thinking  how  much  I  would  love 
to  hear  about  the  old  place,"  I  said  when  I  could  find 
my  voice,  "  it  seems  so  long  since  I  could  talk  to  any 
one  about  it." 

"  I  am  glad  it  has  given  you  pleasure,"  he  answered 
quietly,  and  as  I  ventured  to  raise  my  head  I  saw  that 
the  ironic  look  had  gone  from  his  face,  even  as  the 
light  satire  was  absent  from  his  voice.  "  I  shall  be 
able  to  tell  you  more  as  I  think  of  it.  I'm  coming  back 
with  your  husband  to-morrow  evening.  Sure  it  won't 
bother  you  to  take  me  in  for  a  few  days?  " 

"  No,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  have  you."  I  was 
quite  sincere;  I  wanted  him  to  come  so  that  I  could 
hear  more  of  Sunnydale.  In  his  sympathetic  picture, 
my  former  dislike  of  him  vanished,  for  it  seemed 
almost  as  though  I  had  been  there. 

Nancy  was  happy,  she  had  borne  the  transplanting 
well  and  the  sacrifice  she  had  made  for  the  sake  of 
her  child  had  turned  out  to  be  for  her  own  happiness 
too.  Why  had  it  failed  with  me?  I  thought  of  the 
sunrise  I  had  seen  from  the  hill-top,  which  I  hoped 
might  be  prophetic  of  the  beauty  of  the  day  which  was 
coming  to  me,  and  instead  it  was  full  of  dark  clouds 
through  which  I  could  not  see  the  prospect  of  another 
dawn. 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


The  memory  of  the  girl  who  had  stood  in  that  little 
room,  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  trees,  hearing  the 
call  of  youth  and  love  from  her  window,  was  bitter, 
burning  my  heart  by  its  contrast  with  the  present. 


Chapter  Four 

JUST  at  first  Mr.  Haselton's  presence  in  our  little 
apartment  made  me  feel  self-conscious.  It  was 
so  different  from  Meadowmere,  where  half  a  dozen 
guests  might  be  gathered  in  its  great  spaces  and  still 
convey  no  sense  of  the  intimate  friendliness  which 
could  not  be  separated  from  the  one  visitor  in  our 
tiny  flat. 

Among  our  gay  set  he  was  an  immediate  and  com- 
plete success.  Every  one  voted  him  delightful,  over- 
whelmed him  with  invitations.  I,  apparently,  had  been 
unusual  in  finding  anything  to  dislike  in  his  smiling, 
deferential  manner  which  was  always  in  evidence  with 
every  woman  he  met;  then,  too,  he  had  a  knack  of 
remembering  flowers  or  candy  or  a  book  some  one  had 
mentioned  which  kept  him  in  mind  and  rendered  a 
flattering  homage.  But  it  was  not  only  the  women 
who  liked  him;  his  genial  manner  made  him  equally 
popular  with  the  men.  A  week  passed  in  a  constant 
whirl  of  gaiety. 

Yet  it  was  not  only  gaiety  that  I  associated  with 
him,  for  whenever  we  could  drop  out  of  the  general 
conversation,  we  talked  of  Sunnydale  and  Meadow- 
mere  and  I  looked  forward  to  the  few  moments  when 
I  could  forget  the  present  in  his  pictures  of  the  place 
I  loved.  That  was  a  bond  between  us  which  had  easily 

[237] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


conquered  my  first  dislike.  And  further  I  was  flattered 
by  the  subtle  admiration  he  gave  me,  by  the  many 
little  acts  he  did  which  showed  that  he  wished  to  please 
me.  He  thought  it  was  worth  while  taking  some 
trouble ;  my  husband  did  not. 

And  with  this  simmering  resentment  against  Eddie's 
neglect,  I  only  smiled  when  Maisie  said  in  her  mean- 
ing tone, 

"  He's  a  peach !  I  quite  envy  you.  How  long  is  he 
going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Only  till  to-morrow  with  us,  for  Eddie  has  to  go 
to  Pittsburgh  on  Monday  to  look  at  one  of  his 
precious  old  plants  and  as  he  won't  be  back  till 
Wednesday  or  Thursday,  Mr.  Haselton's  going  back 
to  his  hotel." 

"  Too  bad !  "  She  looked  at  me  with  a  knowing 
smile  as  her  white  teeth  bit  through  a  chocolate  almond. 

Though  I  disliked  her  half-malicious  smile,  the 
innuendo  flattered  the  self-importance  which  had  been 
stung  by  her  former  contemptuous  attitude  towards 
my  uninteresting  standards,  and  I  answered  lightly, 
"  Oh,  but  he'll  still  be  in  New  York!  " 

Nevertheless,  when  Eddie  went  away  on  Monday 
morning  with  a  casual,  "  Good-bye,  I  needn't  say  that 
I  hope  you  won't  be  lonely.  I  guess  you'll  find  plenty 
to  amuse  you,"  I  wondered  if  he,  too,  was  referring  to 
Mr.  Haselton.  I  glanced  swiftly  at  his  face — was  he 
jealous?  But  it  was  woodenly  expressionless. 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  see  you  much  less  than  I  do  when 
you're  living  here !  Good-bye." 

[238] 


Defiance 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment  with  his  finger  on  the 
elevator  button.  "  You  know,  Mother  will  be  delighted 
to  take  you  in  till  I  come  back  if  you  should — feel 
lonely." 

"  Thank  you  very  much."  My  tone  was  casual,  and 
as  the  elevator  shot  up  he  entered  it  without  a  back- 
ward glance. 

I  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  staying  with  Mrs. 
Boynton.  The  new  role  demanded  a  completer  inde- 
pendence than  that,  even  if  it  had  not  already  made  a 
rift  in  the  kindly  feeling  I  had  begun  to  have  for  her. 
She  was  Eddie's  mother ;  thus  she  shared  in  the  resent- 
ment I  felt  against  him  and  the  rift  was  slowly 
widened  by  the  irritating  knowledge  that  of  late  her 
shrewd  eyes  had  often  been  upon  me.  I  had  begun  to 
avoid  her,  but  as  I  was  waiting  for  Maisie,  who  was 
driving  us  to  a  luncheon  party,  Mrs.  Boynton  arrived 
at  the  apartment. 

"  Hello,  Margaret,"  she  said  affably.  "  You  two  off 
again !  Why  don't  you  come  and  have  dinner  with  me 
to-night,  seeing  you're  a  grass  widdy  ?  " 

'  Thank  you  all  the  same,  but  I  can't.    Mr.  Hasel- 
ton's  taking  some  of  us  to  dinner  and  the  theatre." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,  how  thoughtless  of  me.  I 
should  have  known  he'd  be  doing  something."  I 
glanced  at  her  quickly,  but  she  was  still  smiling. 
"  Well,  perhaps  to-morrow." 

"The  Martins  are  giving  him  a  party  to-mor- 
row." 

"  Bless  me,  doesn't  it  seem  like  Mr.  Haselton  had 

[239] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


become  an  indispensable  part  of  our  lives?  What  a 
pity  he  has  a  wife  and  children  in  London  or  maybe 
he'd  consider  transferring  his  job  right  here,  and  then 
how  happy  we  could  all  be." 

Her  tone  was  outwardly  devoid  of  intention  but  as 
I  turned  away  to  join  Maisie,  I  could  feel  the  colour 
rising  in  my  cheeks.  And  all  through  the  evening  her 
words  kept  flitting  in  my  memory,  so  that  when  Mr. 
Haselton,  having  accompanied  me  up  in  the  elevator, 
paused  to  say,  "  You  are  different  to-night.  Am  I  to 
blame?"  self -consciousness  pierced  my  successful 
woman-of-the-world  attitude  and  I  am  afraid  my  tone 
was  not  so  light  as  I  intended — "  Perhaps  I  am  a  bit 
tired,  but  I  enjoyed  it  immensely." 

"  I,  too, — as  always." 

I  bowed  demurely.  "  The  Martins  are  waiting  for 
you!" 

"  The  hint  direct.    All  right,  I'm  going,  good  night." 

When  I  had  shut  the  door  I  stood  a  moment  breath- 
ing quickly.  For  while  bowing  over  my  hand  his  lips 
had  touched  it — gracefully,  casually,  without  apparent 
purpose.  Yet  the  entire  novelty  involved  it  in  mean- 
ing. 

On  the  hall  table  were  some  letters  and  as  I  took 
them  up  abstractedly,  my  mood  changed.  For  they 
were  from  Mary  Harden  and  Sir  Mark. 

I  read  her  letter  first    It  was  cheerful,  almost  casual 

in  tone  but  underneath  there  was  passionate  sympathy, 

a  devotion  which  animated  days  without  proper  sleep, 

awful  conditions,  things  which  tore  the  heart.    Under 

[240] 


Defiance 

Sir  Mark's  cheerful  words  lay  the  same  suffering  for 
the  losses  of  his  men. 

And  the  longing  to  be  with  them  which  swept  over 
me  was  so  fierce  that  it  was  torture,  contracting  my 
throat  with  the  intolerable  pain.  To  be  with  them, 
working  and  enduring  for  the  same  cause.  The 
thought  of  Robert  Haselton's  admiration  became 
degrading;  I  hated  him  because  he  was  here  safe, 
jovial,  untouched  by  the  tragedies  which  Mary  saw, 
because  he  was  not  fighting  by  the  side  of  the  brother 
who  was  so  much  older.  I  hated  myself  still  further. 

The  mood  lasted  into  the  morning  so  that  when  I 
heard  his  voice  on  the  'phone  I  answered  coldly,  refus- 
ing the  luncheon  which  he  suggested.  Without  the 
incentive  of  excitement  and  pleasure,  the  day  dragged 
interminably ;  the  longing  for  company,  for  something 
to  deaden  thought  was  growing  stronger  when  a  great 
glowing  bouquet  was  brought  by  a  messenger — violets 
and  orchids  blending  their  delicate  mauves  and  yellows. 
And  as  I  touched  their  beauty,  the  desire  to  please  rose 
insistently  till  elation  drowned  all  but  this  new  sense 
of  power.  I  had  thought  little  of  the  fact  that  Clarrie 
had  not  seemed  entirely  unwilling  to  transfer  his  al- 
legiance to  me ;  he  was  only  a  boy,  but  Robert  Haselton 
was  different,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  clever  money- 
maker, a  power.  Without  wit  or  wealth  or  great 
beauty  I  could  wield  my  influence  over  a  man  like  this ; 
out  of  the  crowd  of  pretty  women  he  had  met,  I  was 
the  one  for  whom  his  light  casual  tone  altered  into 
seriousness. 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


The  coldness  of  my  refusal  to  lunch  had  apparently 
added  depth  to  Mr.  Haselton's  sincerity.  My  spirits 
rose  in  the  intoxication  of  this  game  of  allurement; 
next  day  I  left  myself  no  time  for  thought. 

It  was  after  midnight  on  Wednesday  when  Eddie 
arrived  home.  I  had  just  come  from  a  party  in  which 
I  had  tasted  to  the  full  this  heady  sense  of  power,  the 
excitement  of  it  still  bubbled  in  my  veins,  shone  from 
my  eyes. 

Eddie  looked  tired  but  his  voice  was  good-natured, 

"  Hello,  Margaret !  I  had  to  make  a  mighty  rush 
to  get  home  to-night  but  it  was  worth  it.  You  look 
pretty  good  to  tired  eyes.  Did  you  miss  me?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  I  smiled  up  at  him  under  my  lashes. 

His  eyes  glinted  as  he  came  nearer,  "  You've  got  a 
nerve  to  say  that !  " 

I  eluded  him,  retreated,  still  smiling,  conscious  that 
the  old  passion  was  softening  his  eyes,  conscious  of  the 
dazzling  sense  of  power  in  being  a  woman. 

My  foot  touched  the  wall  and  I  stood  there,  leaning 
against  it  smiling.  And  even  as  the  strength  of  his 
arms  held  me  breathlessly,  through  the  triumph  swept 
a  stinging  memory  of  the  girl  who  had  so  shyly  and 
innocently  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  future. 


[242] 


Chapter  Five 

A?  the  end  of  two  weeks  Mr.  Haselton  was  still 
with  us,  and  when  the  days  crept  into  three,  he 
said  laughingly, 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  finish  all  the  business 
I  can  do  here.  It  seems  to  be  always  surrounding  me 
and  tempting  me  to  stay.  I  suppose  I  shall  just  have 
to  leave  it — I  must  go  back  next  week." 

"  We  shall  all  miss  you  awfully/'  I  said  lightly,  but 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  flatness.  He  had  made  life 
pass  pleasantly  and  seemingly  that  was  all  I  could  ask 
of  it. 

"  Oh,  don't  put  such  a  pleasant  thought  into  the  col- 
lective all,  it  sounds  so  impersonal."  There  was  an 
almost  inappreciable  suggestion  of  intimacy  in  his  tone. 

"  I  shall  miss  you,"  I  answered  softly,  receiving  a 
grateful  glance.  "  We  must  have  a  grand  farewell 
party.  I'll  talk  to  Eddie  about  it." 

"  Eddie,"  I  said  that  evening,  "  do  you  know  that 
Mr.  Haselton  has  to  go  home  next  week  ?  " 

"  Has  he  really  ?  "  he  answered  in  a  peculiar  tone. 
Was  he  jealous?  Had  his  complacency  been  pierced 
I  wondered  triumphantly?  But  as  I  looked  at  his  in- 
different face  I  concluded  that  it  was  just  part  of  his 

[243] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


general  disagreeableness  which  had  been  more  than 
ever  in  evidence  since  the  night  of  his  return  from 
Pittsburgh. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  to  give  him  a  send- 
off  party.  What  do  you  say,  shall  we  make  it  next 
Friday?" 

"Sure,  will  you  fix  it?"  His  tone  could  hardly 
be  called  enthusiastic,  but  this  cold  polite  note  had 
become  so  usual  that  it  had  lost  most  of  its  early  sting. 

I  asked  the  same  crowd  which  had  come  to  the  first 
dinner  party.  Mrs.  Boynton  tried  to  refuse,  saying 
with  her  hearty  smile,  "  No,  I  guess  the  old  folks 
won't  come  in  on  this  deal.  We'll  let  you  young  people 
enjoy  yourselves,"  but  upon  Eddie's  insistence  she 
shrugged  her  broad  shoulders  and  chuckled,  "  O.K. 
Ed,  what  you  say  always  goes." 

When  I  told  Mr.  Haselton  what  we  planned  and 
asked  if  the  date  would  suit  him,  he  answered  with  the 
smile  which  was  baffling, 

"  Perfectly,  dear  lady,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come, 
and  may  I  ask  one  last  favour  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  I  answered  smiling,  "  Shall  not  the 
parting  guest  have  all  that  he  desire  ?  " 

"  All — if  that  were  possible!  Yet  if  not  all,  at  least 
this,  will  you  wear  the  dress  in  which  you  greeted 
me?" 

"  Your  wish  shall  be  observed  with  pleasure !  " 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  casual  lightness  of  our  tones,  my 
pulse  quickened.  Underneath  his  easy  manner  he 
always  managed  to  convey  a  sense  of  intimacy,  a  feel- 
[244] 


Defiance 

ing  of  expectation.  But  so  perfect  was  his  outward 
manner  and  so  gradually  had  we  drifted  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  subjects  beyond  the  barrier  of  mere  ac- 
quaintances that  I  was  scarcely  surprised  when  he 
leaned  forward  and  said  in  a  tone  more  deeply  serious 
than  usual, 

"  Forgive  me  for  speaking,  but  I  can  see  you  are 
unhappy — can't  I  help  you?  " 

"  Do  I  wear  my  heart  on  my  sleeve  to  all  that  ex- 
tent ?  "  I  asked  with  a  light  bitterness. 

"  No,  no,  but  I  have  watched  you  more  closely  than 
others,  you  see  I  am  interested  in  my — country- 
woman !  " 

His  tone  was  normal,  but  my  heart  beat  a  little 
quicker  under  the  subtle  note  of  admiration  and  sym- 
pathy and  my  own  colour  vied  with  the  rouge  as  he 
added,  "  I  hate  to  see  you  unhappy.  Why  do  you 
stand  it?" 

"What?" 

"  Neglect !  "  he  answered  boldly,  meeting  my  eyes. 

For  a  second  loyalty  sent  a  wave  of  anger  over  me 
— how  dared  he!  Then  the  hurt  pride  that  another 
had  noticed  the  neglect  drowned  everything  but  resent- 
ment and  antagonism  against  my  husband  as  I  burst 
out, 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"  Why  don't  you  end  it,  and  go  home?  " 

He  had  put  into  words  the  half-formed  thought 
which  had  been  hovering  in  my  mind  for  days.  Why 
shouldn't  I,  indeed  ?  I  was  not  wanted  here. 

[245] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


Then  as  I  saw  sympathy  fade  from  his  face,  I 
noticed  that  the  Martins  had  come  to  the  table  next 
to  that  at  which  we  had  been  lunching,  and  recovering 
my  flippant  manner,  I  said, 

"  Thank  you  for  your  advice." 

"  It  is  always  at  your  service,"  he  answered  in  the 
same  tone. 

As  the  days  in  that  last  week  passed  the  nervous 
tension  increased.  There  was  a  party  at  the  Whitings', 
at  the  Martins',  at  the  Boyntons' — dinners,  restaurants, 
cabarets,  everything  to  show  the  popular  Mr.  Haselton 
how  much  we  should  regret  his  departure,  till  by  the 
Friday  morning,  the  day  before  he  was  to  sail,  and 
the  day  of  the  farewell  dinner,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  a 
piece  of  quicksilver,  excited,  reckless,  eager  for  every 
moment  to  be  filled.  All  the  more  did  I  strain  after 
incessant  amusement  as  I  began  to  realise  that  for  the 
last  week  there  had  been  a  terrible  weariness  under- 
neath my  gaiety,  a  feeling  of  physical  languor  so  great 
that  it  seemed  that  if  I  stopped  the  spring  would  snap 
and  I  would  sink  into  apathy  or  oblivion. 

I  was  burying  my  face  in  the  fragrance  of  the  roses 
which  had  just  arrived  and  thinking  what  an  artist 
Mr.  Haselton  was  in  these  matters,  how  he  had 
matched  the  tones  of  my  dress  to  perfection — from  a 
deep  red,  so  deep  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  glowed  with 
active  vital  life,  to  that  of  the  soft  pale  pink  of  a  hot- 
house rose — when  the  telephone  bell  rang.  Was  it 
from  some  hidden  feeling  that  I  could  not  analyse,  or 
was  it  because  my  highly-strung  nerves  tingled  at  any 
[246] 


Defiance 

sudden  sound  that  the  jangle  of  the  bell  sent  my  heart 
racing  in  that  painful  erratic  way? 

"  Hello,"  said  Eddie's  voice,  "  I'm  mighty  sorry,  but 
I've  just  had  a  call  to  Philadelphia." 

"  To  Philadelphia,"  I  echoed,  "  why,  you  can't  pos- 
sibly go  there,  have  you  forgotten  about  to-night?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't  forgotten,  but  there's  been  an  acci- 
dent to  a  plant  just  the  other  side,  and  I  have  to  tear 
right  away.  It  has  to  be,  I'll  'phone  Haselton  and 
make  apologies." 

'  You  can't  go,  you  must  stay,  you  must  be  there 
to-night,"  I  said  breathlessly. 

"  Don't  be — say,  I  can't  stay  to  argue,  my  train  goes 
in  ten  minutes.  I  tell  you  I'm  terribly  sorry,"  his 
voice  rose  in  irritation,  "  but  I  must  attend  to  my  job. 
Have  a  good  time  and  I'll  try  and  get  back  before  the 
evening  is  over.  Good-bye." 

"  Eddie !  " — my  voice  rose  urgently,  "  Eddie ! 
Don't  go ! "  I  waited  a  moment,  there  was  no  reply. 
He  had  gone! 

"  I  must  attend  to  my  job  " — always  that,  always 
business,  money,  success — was  that  all  there  was  to 
his  job?  Yes,  in  his  eyes  nothing  else  mattered;  for 
all  the  interest  I  was  in  his  life  I  might  as  well  be  out 
of  it.  He  wouldn't  miss  me.  What  a  fool  I  had  been 
to  think  I  ever  counted.  When  had  he  made  any  sacri- 
fice for  me?  Never!  I  was  just  something  he  had 
wanted,  but  which  he  would  have  done  without  if  it 
entailed  any  sacrifice  of  the  things  which  really  meant 
much  to  him — money,  success,  achievement,  he  thought 

[247] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


of  nothing  else.  What  was  the  use  of  staying?  Why 
shouldn't  I  go  ?  The  idea  grew  with  the  anger,  resent- 
ment and  sense  of  injury  burning  in  my  heart.  I  had 
given  up  everything,  why  should  I  do  so  any  longer, 
why  shouldn't  I  go  back  to  my  home  and  forget  all 
this,  put  it  out  of  my  life?  Mr.  Haselton's  advice 
flickered  in  my  mind — it  would  hurt  Eddie's  pride, 
perhaps  that  way  it  might  make  him  suffer ! 

As  I  walked  past  a  mirror  I  stopped  quickly  at  the 
sight  of  my  reflection,  seeing  a  pale  face  and  hard 
eyes.  I  looked  incredibly  old  without  the  rouge  and 
without  the  glow  of  excitement — excitement,  was  there 
not  still  to-night !  I  need  not  begin  to  think  until  after 
that.  I  must  not  begin  to  think;  gaiety  and  amuse- 
ment failed  lamentably  if  one  allowed  a  thought  to 
creep  in  between  their  ceaseless  search. 

And  in  a  fury  of  restlessness  I  passed  the  day  until 
by  the  time  evening  came  I  could  scarcely  stand.  The 
dragging  weariness  frightened  me  and  under  the  im- 
pulse of  this  fear  I  went  to  the  stand  where  Eddie 
kept  his  cocktail  stuff  and  pouring  out  some  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  first  bottle  I  touched,  drank  it  at  a  gulp. 
The  taste  was  villainous,  but  the  effect  was  instan- 
taneous, the  blood  flowing  again  into  my  veins  and 
when  I  went  into  the  gaily  decorated  room  of  the  hotel 
I  sought  Mr.  Haselton  with  a  smile  which  was  as  gay, 
as  audacious  as  I  wished  to  have  it. 

Every  one  who  was  invited  was  there — except 
Eddie.  The  wine  and  gaiety  kept  the  glow  alive,  but 
every  now  and  then  the  lights  and  noise  faded  into  a 
[248] 


Defiance 

blur  through  which  I  seemed  to  see  a  tired  white  face 
with  grimly  closed  mouth  and  hard  grey  eyes.  I  was 
frightened  by  these  moments  of  apathy,  of  semi-con- 
sciousness and  once  as  I  recovered,  touching  my  hot 
head  with  hands  which  were  cold  and  trembling,  I 
caught  Mrs.  Boynton's  calm  wise  eyes  with  their  cheer- 
ful smile  which  just  then  was  veiled  by  anxiety.  She 
was  always  watching  me.  Why  didn't  she  look  after 
her  own  daughter?  What  were  my  affairs  to  her? 
And  resentment  gave  me  strength  to  catch  once  more 
the  excitement  and  audacity. 

I  struggled  against  the  feeling  of  relief  when  the 
party  began  to  break  up.  I  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  to 
give  way  to  this  desire  for  rest,  to  give  up  the  struggle. 
But  as  we  put  on  our  wraps  in  the  dressing-room,  Mrs. 
Boynton  manoeuvred  me  away  from  the  rest  of  the 
laughing,  chattering  women  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Margaret,  you  look  all  in.  Come  along  with  us, 
Popper  and  I  will  give  you  a  lift  in  our  taxi  as  Ed 
hasn't  turned  up." 

She  was  Eddie's  mother — that  was  all  I  could  think 
of  as  I  answered  haughtily,  "  Thank  you  very  much, 
but  Mr.  Haselton  has  offered  to  see  that  I  get  home 
safely." 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  then  patting  my  arm, 
with  a  kind  look  in  her  eyes,  she  went  on,  "  Never 
mind  about  him,  you  come  along  with  us.  I  never  get 
a  chance  of  talking  to  you  these  times  and  you  know 
I'm  a  kind  of  chaperone  when  Ed  isn't  along,"  she 
added  whimsically. 

[249] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


The  words  drove  me  to  sudden  fury — "  I  don't 
want  a  chaperone.  Why  don't  you  look  after  your 
own  daughter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  keep  an  eye  on  her,  all  right,"  she  answered 
calmly.  "  Besides,  I  know  my  Maisie,  bless  you,  she's 
got  a  hard  little  head.  But  you  are  different,  Mar- 
garet, and  somehow  lately  you've  seemed  to  be — so 
changed,  and  I'm  real — real  fond  of  you,  can't  I 
help?" 

Her  kind  beseeching  eyes  appealed  to  my  tired  long- 
ing to  give  everything  up,  to  throw  myself  into  her 
arms,  and  rest — I  longed  for  rest  ..."  Let  your- 
self go  " — a  nice  tame  ending  to  an — an  episode  to 
drive  home  with  my  husband's  mother.  As  the 
anxiety  in  her  usually  placid  face  deepened,  it  added 
to  my  fury  of  resentment.  If  my  husband  had  no 
time  to  look  after  me,  there  were  others  who — "No, 
thank  you,"  I  said  icily  and  joined  the  others. 

As  Mr.  Haselton  and  I  drove  away,  the  last  thing  I 
saw  was  Maisie's  look.  It  rallied  my  power  of  over- 
coming the  weariness  so  that  I  was  able  to  smile. 
"  I'm  sorry  you  have  to  go.  I  shan't  have  any  one  to 
talk  with  about  Sunnydale." 

"Is  that  the  only  reason?"  he  asked,  bending  to- 
wards me. 

"Of  course,"  I  looked  at  him  demurely. 

"  Supposing  business  brought  me  back,  would  you 
— welcome  me?  " 

"With  all  our  hearts!" 

The  ironical  smile  covered  the  look  which  had  stirred 
[250] 


Defiance 

the  demon  of  recklessness  in  me.  "  Let's  make  the 
most  of  the  present.  What  do  you  say  to  looking  in 
at  a  cabaret?  That  is,  of  course,  if  you  think  your 
husband  won't  mind." 

They  were  just  the  words  to  make  me  agree, — what 
right  had  he  to  mind,  he  didn't  take  the  trouble  to  look 
after  me? 

"He's  not  here,  is  he?"  I  answered  lightly,  "let's 
go  and  say  good-bye  to  Broadway." 

Underneath  the  gaudy  glitter  of  the  place,  under- 
neath the  reckless  gaiety  I  assumed,  underneath  the 
tense  sense  of  expectation  which  was  exhilarating,  I 
was  every  now  and  then  conscious  of  that  overwhelm- 
ing weariness  of  body,  when  my  mind  seemed  to  be 
floating  in  the  air  while  my  body  acted  like  a  weight 
trying  to  drag  it  down.  Sometimes  I  seemed  almost 
to  lose  consciousness  and  then  I  drank  more  wine  to 
feel  again  its  rebounding  glow  through  tired  veins. 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  apartment  as  Mr.  Hasel- 
ton  opened  the  door  for  me — so  Eddie  had  not  come 
home! 

A  clock  struck  two.  "  Good  night!  "  I  said,  smiling 
that  frivolous  smile,  "  or  good  morning,  we'll  be  down 
to  see  you  off,  of  course,  and  say  good-bye.  And 
maybe  I'll  see  you  in  England  before  long." 

"  You're  coming  home?  " 

"  One  never  knows !  " 

He  was  still  holding  my  hand.  "  I  won't  risk  it — 
I'd  rather  say  good-bye  now  while  we  are  alone,"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice. 

[251] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Good-bye,"  I  stammered  breathlessly. 

His  face  came  nearer;  with  the  shedding  of  the 
ironic  conventional  smile  and  of  the  kind  serious  in- 
terest in  the  things  I  liked  it  held  an  expression  I 
loathed.  And  immediately  I  was  no  reckless  woman 
of  the  world,  but  a  foolish  trembling  creature  who  was 
terrified  by  the  consequence  of  that  recklessness. 
Again  weariness  was  dragging  at  me,  taking  away  all 
power  of  thought  or  speech.  Through  the  instinct  of 
fear  and  repulsion  I  backed  away,  mechanically,  sup- 
porting myself  with  a  hand  on  the  hall  table. 

My  fingers  touched  an  envelope.  For  a  moment  we 
stood  facing  each  other,  and  then  my  brain  cleared 
enough  for  me  to  read  the  address. 

"  Why,  it's  for  you,"  I  said,  laughing  shakily,  "  they 
must  think  you  are  still  staying  with  us." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  it — do  you  think  I  can  see  any- 
thing now,  think  of  anything  but  you?  " 

"  You  must  open  it.    See,  it's  a  cable." 

Impatiently  he  took  it  from  me — "  It  could  wait !  " 
he  said  sulkily. 

But  as  I  watched  him  read,  it  seemed  as  though  I 
saw  the  man  slowly  dissolving  into  a  ghost.  The  dark 
sparkling  eyes  grew  paler,  the  full  flush  on  the  hand- 
some face  faded  into  a  greyish  pallor,  the  whole 
portly  glowing  figure  seemed  to  shrink.  I  heard  him 
mutter,  "My  God!" 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  Mark "  He  stammered— " Mark— my 

brother " 

[252] 


Defiance 

"  Mark !  "  I  whispered,  the  name  flooding  my  brain 
with  memories,  "  Mark !  What's  the  matter  with 
him?" 

"  He's  dead — shot — killed  in  action.  Poor  old  chap ! 
I  loved  Mark!" 

Mark — the  man  of  honour,  of  dignity,  of  kindliness, 
who  had  never  done  an  evil  deed,  whom  every  one 
loved,  who  had  loved  me,  who  had  given  me  up  with- 
out a  bitter  thought.  Dead !  Fighting  for  his  country, 

while  I If  I  had  suddenly  had  to  meet  him  then, 

what  shame  to  stand  before  those  keen  kind  blue  eyes, 
filled  with  the  loveliness  of  living  and  let  them  see  the 
change  in  the  girl  he  had  loved.  With  a  long  shiver  I 
tried  to  gather  my  dress  about  my  bare  shoulders, 
while  I  drew  my  hand  harshly  across  my  rouged  lips. 
What  shame  and  remorse! 

Then  I  saw  the  dull  eyes  of  his  brother  looking  at 
me  through  a  cloud  which  whirled  and  whirled.  It 
spread,  eddying  and  circling  until  there  was  nothing 
stable  to  stand  upon;  the  dragging  weariness  was 
mounting  up  my  body,  clutching  now  at  my  tired  brain. 

"  Mark,  Mark!  "  I  screamed,  "  save  me!  "  Sway- 
ing, I  tried  to  put  away  the  hands  which  were  coming 
to  help  me,  but  with  the  effort  the  weariness  won, 
and  I  fell  into  the  blackness  of  unconsciousness. 


[253] 


BOOK  SIX:  SUNRISE 


BOOK  SIX:   SUNRISE 
Chapter  One 


I  HAVE  a  vague  memory  that  through  the  night 
there  was  unusual  activity  in  the  apartment,  that 
bells  rang,  and  lights  flashed,  and  a  strange  face  bent 
over  me,  disturbing  my  tired  body,  but  it  was  not  until 
very  early  in  the  morning  that  I  became  fully  con- 
scious. I  turned  my  head  and  could  just  distinguish 
a  huddled  figure  in  a  chair.  His  face  was  pale  and  his 
head  had  fallen  forward  in  an  uneasy  doze.  It  was 
my  husband,  and  I  put  out  my  hand  and  touched  him. 
Immediately  he  was  on  his  feet,  bending  over  me. 

"  Eddie,  what  has  happened  ?  Why  are  you  there, 
sitting  in  your  clothes?  " 

"  I  came  in  about  two  to  find  that  you  had  fainted. 
Haselton  couldn't  get  you  round  so  he  had  'phoned 
for  a  doctor  and  had  gotten  the  girl  up  to  look  after 
you.  He  said  he  had  had  a  cable  that  his  brother  was 
killed  and  that  the  news  had  knocked  you  over.  I 
didn't  mean  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  you  needed  any- 
thing, but  I  was  so  doggoned  tired." 

I  turned  my  head  away  again.  The  memory  of  the 
night  before  came  in  a  vivid  rush  of  shame. 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  And  further  the  doctor  has  left  strict  instructions 
that  you  must  rest  for  several  days." 

"  But  how  absurd,  why  I  feel  heaps  better,  it  was 
just  that  I  have  been  doing  too  much  gadding  about." 

"  But  it's  not  absurd,  you  must,  or  he  says  it  may 
— be  serious." 

His  halting  manner  and  entire  lack  of  the  usual 
self-confidence  surprised  me — "What  may  be 
serious  ?  " 

Immediately  the  tired  lines  of  his  face  relaxed  into 
a  happier  expression — "  You  didn't  know,  oh,  I'm 
glad,  I  thought  it  was  because  we'd  got  adrift  some- 
how, that  you  hadn't  said  anything.  It  hurt  like 
blazes,  because  you  knew  how  happy  I'd  be." 

Happy! — my  heart  seemed  to  stop  and  then  bound 
on  again  in  a  painful  erratic  pulsing,  as  understanding 
came.  "  Oh,  Eddie !  "  He  leaned  over  me  till  his 
cheek  rested  on  mine. 

In  the  midst  of  those  reckless  days  since  Haselton's 
coming  when  I  had  tried  not  to  think,  not  to  feel,  just 
to  live  in  a  continual  state  of  excitement,  I  had  never 
given  a  thought  to  the  possibility  of  a  child.  For  that 
would  have  softened  my  heart  and  I  had  been  bent  only 
on  hardening  it.  Now  facts  crowded  into  my  mind 
with  simple  conviction.  And  I  was  bitterly  ashamed 
to  think  that  the  prospect  of  such  a  trust  had  been 
given  to  me  who  had  been  living  in  the  excitement  of 
another  man's  admiration.  As  my  thoughts  went  back 
to  Sir  Mark,  shame  grew.  How  I  had  fallen  from 
that  high  place  to  which  he  belonged,  to  which  his 
[258] 


Sunrise 

death  was  dedicated  even  as  his  life.  For  he  had  died 
as  he  had  lived  without  thinking  of  self,  and  even  in 
passing  away  he  had  helped  me,  had  saved  me  at  least 
from  the  touch  of  another's  lips. 

Then  out  of  the  shame  hope  gradually  began  to 
grow. 

I  remembered  how  the  reckless  woman-of-the-world 
had  changed  so  pitifully  when  the  actual  consequences 
of  her  recklessness  had  surrounded  her.  It  had  been 
exciting  enough,  in  a  mood  of  hard  defiance,  to  plan 
the  intoxicating  game  which  was  to  end  in  triumph, 
but  how  the  real  Margaret  had  shrunk  from  that  end 
which  in  its  attainment  had  become  ugly,  sordid,  ter- 
rifying. To  the  knowledge  of  that  shrinking  was 
added  the  thought  of  Mark's  death  and  in  the  follow- 
ing hours  of  blackness,  it  seemed  as  though  a  veil  had 
been  drawn  over  the  past.  With  this  new  knowledge 
which  had  come  with  the  dawn,  like  it  bringing  the 
hope  of  a  new  life,  resentment  and  defiance  faded. 

As  I  saw  the  white  weariness  of  my  husband's  face, 
to  which  a  touch  of  helplessness  was  given  by  the 
closed  lids,  my  tenderness  for  everything  which  was 
hurt  and  tired  went  out  .to  him — poor,  poor  dear,  how 
badly  I  had  looked  after  him.  My  eyes  burned  and 
as  a  tear  rolled  down  my  cheeks  and  touched  his,  he 
raised  his  head. 

"  Eddie,"  I  whispered,  "  I  must  talk  to  you,  I  must 
tell  you " 

"  You  mustn't  talk  now,  you  must  rest.  I'll  make 
you  some  tea." 

[259] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


As  I  lay  there,  folding  to  my  heart  the  happiness  of 
this  new  knowledge,  I  knew  that  under  all  resentment 
and  irritation,  under  the  process  of  settling  down  to  a 
new  life,  the  passionate  love  for  my  husband  still  lived. 
That  was  why  I  had  suffered  so  deeply,  why  the  excite- 
ment of  finding  a  stimulus  in  fresh  admiration  had 
never  filled  my  heart.  And  in  the  wonderful  peace  I 
was  finding  in  the  new  sense  of  kinship  between  the 
enduring  trio,  husband,  wife  and  child,  I  was  tempted 
to  say  nothing  of  the  past;  nothing  had  really  hap- 
pened, it  would  be  easier  for  both  of  us  if  I  forgot  it. 
Then  Eddie's  stalwart  words  came  back  to  me — 
"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  face  things  like  a  sensible 
man  and  woman?  "  Yes,  that  was  the  better  way 
after  all,  to  have  complete  truth  between  us,  and  then 
put  that  past  away,  never  think  of  it,  never  talk  of  it, 
begin  again. 

Presently  Eddie  was  back,  and  as  he  came  in  quietly, 
carrying  a  tray,  the  sight  of  the  queer  medley  he  had 
brought  filled  my  heart  with  a  tenderness  which  had  in 
it  chiefly  the  mother-love.  For  he  looked  so  helplessly 
masculine,  so  humble  in  a  role  which  was  foreign  to  his 
usual  businesslike  competence. 

"  I  don't  know  where  that  girl  puts  things,"  he  said, 
"  but  I've  done  the  best  I  could,  and  I  hope  it  will  be 
O.K."  The  cloth  was  many  sizes  too  big  for  the  tray, 
the  surplus  hanging  over  the  edges  in  clumsy  festoons, 
there  was  an  odd  pitcher  of  milk,  an  old  teapot  and  as 
he  raised  the  cover  to  show  me  the  dandy  toast  he  had 
made,  I  laughed  shakily,  the  tears  not  far  away. 
[260] 


Sunrise 

"  Why,  Eddie,  that's  a  cheese  dish!  " 

"  Gee,  is  it  ?  What  do  you  think,  but  the  contents 
won't  taste  any  the  worse,  I'll  bet." 

It  was  the  first  meal  that  he  had  ever  brought  me 
and  somehow  this  simple  act  of  service  touched  me 
more  than  any  great  deed  could  have  done.  How 
much  these  foolish  little  things  mean  to  us ! 

It  was  too  early  for  any  evidence  of  the  normal 
activity  of  human  life  in  the  great  block  of  apartments; 
even  the  street  was  quiet.  And  in  the  unusual  peace 
Eddie  and  I  found  our  way  back  into  the  old  happy 
intimacy. 

As  the  sun  gradually  rose  in  the  sky,  I  thought  of 
the  view  from  the  hill-top  and  of  that  last  look  of 
Sunnydale  in  the  dawn.  And  again  it  seemed  pro- 
phetic of  the  day  which  was  coming.  But  for  a  mo- 
ment I  had  to  turn  back  to  the  dark  valley  which  was 
behind,  for  a  little  while  I  had  to  remember  all  the 
bitter  thoughts,  the  reckless  moods,  the  unhappiness, 
the  longing  for  Meadowmere  which  was  behind  every- 
thing; even  of  that  final  thing  which  shamed  me. 
After  I  had  finished,  Eddie  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
then  he  asked  in  a  whisper, 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  were  going  away  with 
him?" 

"  Oh  no,  no,  never,  never,"  I  answered  vehemently. 
"  I  was  never  so  bad  as  that.  I  did  not  really  like  him, 
but  his  admiration  flattered  me.  And  you  had  said, 
'  let  yourself  go,'  and  that  stung  my  pride,  spurred  me 
on  to  prove  I  could  win  such  admiration.  I  felt  I  could 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


not  stand  the  monotony  of  things  as  they  were,  it  hurt 
me  that  you  neglected  me  for  business,  it  seemed  all 
you  cared  about." 

"  You  know  that's  not  true,"  he  broke  in. 

"  You  did  not  do  anything  to  prove  it  false,"  I 
answered  quietly.  "  I  know  that  Haselton  never 
thought  of  anything  serious,  he  would  never  have  done 
anything  to  injure  his  social  prestige.  I  suppose  it 
just  amused  him.  After  all,  from  his  point  of  view, 
there  was  nothing  in  it;  he's  charming  to  all  women, 
and  having  found  one  who  was  greedy  for  admiration, 
he  gave  it  to  her.  It  was  only  my  recklessness  which 
made  his  charm  dangerous,  only  the  fact  that  the 
game  was  new  to  me." 

Bitterly  ashamed  I  admitted  to  myself  that  even  his 
advice  to  leave  my  husband  had  no  connection  with  his 
own  intentions,  that  it  had  only  been  the  result  of  the 
man's  natural  instinct  to  take  the  centre  of  the  stage 
where  a  woman  was  concerned. 

I  saw  Eddie's  hands  clench,  then  in  a  quiet  voice  he 
asked,  "  Do  you  still  want  to  go  back  to  England  ?  Do 
you  still  want  to  leave  me?  " 

As  he  thus  put  into  words  the  half-formed  intention 
which  had  hovered  in  my  mind,  it  sounded  amaz- 
ing, preposterous — I  could  scarcely  believe  that 
such  a  thought  had  ever  entered,  and  with  this 
incredulity  came  realisation  of  how  much  I  had  hurt 
him. 

I  wanted  to  stretch  out  my  arms,  passionately  to 
deny  any  such  intention,  but  with  growing  under- 
[262] 


Sunrise 

standing  I  knew  that  the  thing  had  to  be  argued  out 
calmly,  without  appeal  to  the  emotions. 

"  No,"  I  answered  decidedly,  "  I  don't  want  to  go 
back  unless  you  are  with  me.  I  shall  be  saner  now, 
because  I  shall  have  something  to  think  about,  some- 
thing to  look  forward  to,  and  something  to  do.  Eddie, 
that's  the  curse  of  half  the  women  in  our  group,  not 
only  have  they  nothing  to  do,  but  they  have  no  serious 
obligations  or  anxieties  to  fill  their  minds;  their  lives 
are  made  so  easy  for  them  that  they've  nothing  to  do 
but  spend  money  on  amusement  and  on  the  purchase 
of  clothes,  nothing  to  do  but  wear  them  and  wait  for 
the  admiration  they  look  forward  to  in  the  effort  to 
avoid  monotony.  Their  lives  are  so  empty  that  they 
are  swayed  by  any  chance  wind.  It  will  be  different 
for  me  in  future.  I'll  have  something  to  think  about. 
Oh,  Eddie,  I've  been  a  little  pig.  Because  I  couldn't 
have  the  work  I  wanted  to  do,  I've  stubbornly  refused 
to  do  anything,  but  now  I'm  going  to  work  for  our 
men  with  all  my  heart.  There's  another  thing,  I  want 
to  look  after  my  own  apartment." 

"  Do  you  mean  get  rid  of  Mary?  " 

"  Yes ;  it's  ridiculous  to  have  two  able-bodied  women 
for  looking  after  six  tiny  rooms  and  two  people.  Why, 
I  don't  do  a  single  thing  in  the  way  of  housekeeping 
except  telephone  a  few  orders.  I'm  going  to  ask  your 
mother  to  teach  me  how  to  keep  house  properly  and 
how  to  cook,  so  that  my  end  of  affairs  may  be  run  as 
efficiently  as  yours — that  is,  if  she  will  forgive  me,"  I 
added  to  myself,  so  low  that  he  did  not  hear  it. 

[263] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


He  looked  perplexed.  "  But  I  don't  like  the  idea. 
You  always  had  servants  at  home,  it  looks  as  though 
I  couldn't  give  you  what  you've  been  used  to,  as 


"  Oh,  my  dear,  what  does  it  matter  how  our  lives 
look,  it's  what  they  are  that  matters.  And  it  was  dif- 
ferent at  Meadowmere.  That  great  house  took  much 
labour  and  clever  organisation  to  keep  it  running  prop- 
erly. Mother  looked  after  accounts  just  as  well  as  you 
could  have  done;  I  believe  she  knew  every  detail  of  the 
management  of  the  estate.  Besides  that,  she  had  many 
outside  interests.  It  would  have  been  foolish  for  her 
to  do  the  actual  labour  when  she  could  do  other  and 
more  difficult  things  so  well.  But  I  haven't  those  out- 
side interests  and  I'm  not  the  kind  of  woman  to  find 
them.  I'm  not  a  good  organiser,  or  an  intellectual, 
I'm  a  very  average  woman,  lacking  in  self-confidence, 
but  I  know  lean  find  congenial  work  and  a  new  in- 
terest in  my  home,  perhaps  learn  to  run  it  very  wisely. 
You  said  it  was  right  to  do  the  things  we  can  do  best 
•  —  oh,  Eddie,  you'll  agree,  won't  you?  " 

"Of  course,  if  you  really  want  it,  but  let's  see  what 
Mother  says  before  we  make  rash  plunges.  She  has  a 
wise  old  head,  you  know." 

"  All  right,"  I  answered  contentedly,  and  then  with 
hesitation,  fearing  to  disturb  our  amity,  "  There's  one 
other  thing.  Will  you  go  and  see  Mr.  Haselton  off, 
just  the  same.  I  don't  want  him  to  think  he  —  counts 
at  all." 

Eddie's  face  hardened  but  he  nodded  in  assent. 

[264] 


Sunrise  , 

As  peace  thus  came  to  us,  we  fell  into  silence,  and 
Eddie,  supported  by  the  head  of  the  bed,  made  a  rest 
for  my  tired  body,  and  I  leaned  back  against  him,  com- 
pletely happy  with  a  passionate  tenderness  of  love. 
And  my  thoughts  strayed  into  the  future  which  might 
hold  a  little  child,  so  that  the  desire  for  Meadowmere 
grew  fainter,  as  a  beautiful  dream  which  might  yet 
come  true. 

Life  around  us  began  to  stir;  footsteps  sounded  and 
holding  me  more  tightly,  Eddie  whispered,  "  I  can't 
tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  those  hateful  weeks  are 
over ! "  Then  he  stood  up,  stretching  his  arms  high 
above  his  head. 

"  Gee,  I  don't  feel  as  fresh  as  a  daisy,"  he  said 
whimsically,  "  but  a  tub  will  put  me  right.  I'll  have  to 
be  '  marching  on '  now,  old  lady." 

"  Couldn't  you  rest  to-day  ?  " 

"  I'll  just  have  to  report  and  see  to  a  few  things,"  he 
answered  persuasively,  "  but  I'll  be  back  early.  You'll 
be  good  and  stay  in  bed." 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  ask  your  mother  to  come  and 
see  me." 

"  Fine !  "  And  soon  after  I  heard  him  whistling  in 
his  bath. 

I  was  conscious  of  just  a  tiny  flatness.  The  won- 
derful moment  of  reconciliation  was  over,  the  ordinary 
existence  of  life,  so  dull  by  contrast,  was  beginning 
again. 

I  did  not  realise  that  after  all  emotion  there  is  a 
period  of  flatness;  in  the  renewal  of  the  old  love  I 

[265] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


thought  that  every  problem  was  solved.  I  forgot  that 
when  one  is  on  the  hill-top  watching  the  rising  of  the 
sun,  with  its  promise  of  hope,  full  of  the  emotion  given 
by  its  beauty,  one  is  apt  to  overlook  the  rest  of  the 
day;  the  glaring  noon  when  the  sun  is  overhead,  burn- 
ing the  tired  traveller  who  has  descended  to  the  valley 
and  is  toiling  there  throughout  the  long  hours,  seeing 
nothing  of  the  heights,  feeling  none  of  the  exhilaration 
which  comes  from  the  distant  view — just  toiling  on, 
with  the  promise  very  far  away. 

And  so  in  these  moments  of  exultation  in  the  early 
day  when  it  seemed  as  though  only  the  two  of  us  were 
alive,  I  forgot  that  life  would  not  be  greatly  changed 
in  its  little  day-by-day  episodes.  I  forgot  that  there 
would  still  be  the  petty  trials,  the  little  irritations,  the 
monotony  of  daily  duties,  still  meals  to  be  ordered, 
rooms  to  be  cleaned,  bursts  of  temper  and  ugly  words 
to  be  repressed.  If  one  could  only  live  in  those  mo- 
ments of  fine  impulse  and  keen  emotion  when  the  heart 
is  big  and  generous,  when  nothing  petty  or  small 
touches  it,  when  sacrifice  seems  the  only  thing  worth 
living  for — when  one  could  give  away  life  itself  in  the 
full  assurance  that  such  a  gift  would  be  worth  the 
loss!  If  only  one  did  not  have  to  descend  to  the 
valleys ! 


[266] 


Chapter  Two 


WHEN  Mrs.  Boynton  came  in  response  to  my 
telephone  call  and  found  me  in  bed,  she  made 
an  anxious  inquiry. 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter,"  I  said  reassuringly, 
"  It's  just  that  I  had  a  bad  faint  last  night  and  the 
doctor  says  I  have  been  doing  too  much,  so  I'm  being 
lazy  to-day." 

"  So  I  didn't  need  to  get  het  up  after  all,  did  I  ? 
Did  Ed  get  home?" 

"  Yes,  about  two,  so  he's  very  tired,  and  has  prom- 
ised to  come  home  early." 

She  was  looking  at  me  keenly.  Her  face  broke  into 
smiles,  "  Well,  isn't  it  too  bad  you  won't  be  able  to  see 
Mr.  Haselton  off,  he'll  surely  miss  you." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  I  answered  quietly,  looking 
straight  into  her  kind  eyes.  "  His  brother  has  been 
killed;  he's  broken  up  about  it,  so  am  I.  He  was — 
I  was  engaged  to  him  once,  he  was  a  splendid  man." 

Suddenly  her  arms  were  round  me  and  I  could  feel 
the  warmth  of  her  comfortable  body.  "  You  poor  little 
thing.  Now  just  sit  up  a  moment  while  I  fix  your 
bed,  it's  all  in  a  muss." 

I  watched  her  capable  efforts  and  as  I  sank  back 
again  in  fresh  comfort,  I  said  humbly, 

[267] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  I'm  sorry  I  was  rude  to  you  last  night." 

"  Oh  well,  Margaret,  let's  forget  about  last  night. 
We  were  all  fussed  up  about  a  mountain  which  wasn't 
there.  We're  just  going  on  right  ahead.  Did  you 
want  me  for  anything  special  ?  " 

"  Yes."  I  told  her  of  my  plans.  "  Will  you  teach 
me  to  cook  and  keep  house  properly  and  economically  ? 
I'm  going  to  get  rid  of  a  maid." 

Her  eyes  began  to  sparkle.  "  I'll  sure  teach  you 
anything  I  know.  To  cook!  Say,  Margaret,  you  and 
me'll  have  the  best  time  in  our  lives.  I'd  have  done  the 
same  at  home  long  ago  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Maisie. 
She's  got  some  nonsensical  idea  that  it's  more'  stylish 
not  to  touch  your  food  before  it  goes  into  your  mouth ! 
But  I  was  brought  up  to  be  well  acquainted  with  it 
long  before  it  reaches  that  desirable  exit  from  this 
funny  old  world.  I'll  enjoy  helping-  you  ever  so  much 
and  Eddie  will  begin  to  realise  that  he  didn't  know 
what  food  was.  How  soon  can  you  get  rid  of  Mary?  " 

I  began  to  laugh  at  her  youthful  eagerness,  "  Any 
time  by  paying  her  wages,  but  I  have  to  rest  for  a 
few  days." 

"  Then  we'll  begin  a  week  from  to-day  and  revolu- 
tionise the  junior  Boynton  household." 

When  Eddie  came  home,  early  as  he  had  promised, 
I  wondered  why  his  face  was  so  grave.  "I've  just 
seen  Haselton  off.  I'm  sorry  for  him,  he  looked  ten 
years  older.  It  would  seem  that  his  brother  meant 
more  to  him  than  any  of  us  dreamed.  And  now  he's 
the  heir  of  the  Haselton  estate.  But  he  says  he  won't 
[268] 


Sunrise 

live  there,  he  hates  the  country  and  couldn't  bear  the 
constant  reminder  of  Sir  Mark.  Funny  that  he  should 
feel  it  so  deeply,  he  didn't  seem  like  a  man  who 
would." 

I  could  not  speak.  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  the 
tragedy  of  Sir  Mark's  death,  of  the  Hall  empty 
through  long  years,  of  Sunnydale  without  the  wise 
helping  hand  of  its  beloved  friend.  And  though  per- 
haps far  in  the  future  there  would  be  another  Hasel- 
ton  reigning  there,  he  would  be  the  son  of  Robert, 
almost  an  interloper.  Old  remorse  stirred  again,  bring- 
ing a  guilty  sense  of  responsibility,  for  if  I  had  kept 
my  word,  it  might  have  been  that  Sir  Mark  would 
have  left  behind  him  a  son  to  carry  on  the  traditions 
of  his  own  honourable  life. 

In  spite  of  the  unity  and  hope  of  that  early  morning 
reconciliation,  there  were  still  hours  when  the  old  rest- 
lessness and  longing  for  another  scene  stirred  me,  mo- 
ments when  Eddie's  absorption  in  business  irritated  me 
as  much  as  ever,  but  because  my  mind  had  now  some- 
thing else  to  concentrate  upon,  such  feelings  did  not 
stay;  they  did  not  eat  into  my  heart  until  my  whole 
point  of  view  was  embittered.  And  above  all  I  realised 
that  to  be  happy  and  contented  was  now  a  duty,  so 
that  I  strove  with  all  my  might  against  discontent, 
against  sudden  overwhelming  longings  for  the  place  I 
loved. 

And  on  the  Monday  Mrs.  Boynton  and  I  began  our 
respective  roles  of  teacher  and  pupil.  Our  tiny  kitchen 

[269] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


resounded  with  many  a  laugh  and  chuckle ;  she  was  like 
a  child  with  a  new  toy  stove  and  I  could  not  help 
marvelling  at  the  way  in  which  her  heart  had  kept  so 
young. 

A  few  days  later  Eddie  came  home  with  a  very 
pleasant  look  in  his  grey  eyes.  "  Would  you  like  to 
live  in  the  country?  " 

"  Would  I  like  to  live  in— in " 

"  Well,  at  least  it's  something  like  country.  The 
doctor  says  that  you  ought  to  live  somewhere  where 
there's  more  air,  and  where  you  can  sit  out  of  doors 
when  the  weather's  warm,  and  I've  been  looking  at 
Sylverdale.  It's  only  about  twenty  miles  out  of  New 
York  and  there's  a  nice  little  house  which " 

"  A  house !  "  I  shouted,  "  Eddie,  you  mean  we  could 
live  in  a  real  house ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  smiling,  "  and  there's  a  little  garden 
as  you  call  it." 

"  A  house  and  a  garden !  "  I  could  hardly  speak. 
..."  But  will  you  be  content  to  live  out  of  New 
York  ?  "  I  knew  it  would  be  a  sacrifice. 

"Yes,  I  want  you  to  be  happy  and  healthy.  And 
some  day  maybe  I'll  buy  it,  when  I  catch  up  a  bit." 

"  Then  we  have  been  spending  too  much " 

He  looked  confused.  "  Well,  we  do  seem  to  have 
been  running  through  the  dollars  and  I  can't  ask  Dad 
for  more  help  just  now." 

I  was  ashamed  by  the  thought  that  my  extravagance 
had  been  partly  carried  by  Eddie's  father.  "  Eddie,  I 
don't  really  care  for  clothes  and  continual  amusement," 
[270] 


Sunrise 

I  said  solemnly,  "  and  I'm  learning  to  be  an  economical 
housekeeper.  We'll  pull  up,  but  oh,  don't  let's  miss 
the  house." 

There  was  some  of  the  old  boyishness  in  his  laugh — 
"  You  would  like  to  move  there,  then?  " 

"Like!"  It  was  all  I  could  say,  but  there  must 
have  been  something  in  my  voice  to  bring  him  to  my 
side  and  with  his  arms  around  me,  he  said  softly, 

"  Poor  kiddie,  you  have  been  miserable  in  an  apart- 
ment!" 

"  I  shan't  be  any  more,  I  shall  just  live  for  the  time 
when  we  can  move.  Promise  me  one  thing,  that  you 
won't  let  any  one  but  you  and  me  touch  our  new  house. 
I  want  to  do  everything,  hang  every  picture,  put  in 
every  hook.  Just  let  the  men  dump  the  furniture  and 
that's  all." 

"  Why,  I  was  going  to  ask  Mother  to  fix  it  for  you, 
I  thought  it  would  save  you  trouble." 

I  clutched  his  hand  in  fear  that  my  dream  might 
vanish  again.  "No,  no!  That's  just  what  I  don't 
want.  Oh,  don't  let  any  one  touch  it!  If  you  knew 
how  I  wanted  to  make  a  home  myself !  " 

"  Well,  I'm  darned !  "  said  he,  "  a  woman  is  beyond 
me!" 

It  was  a  bright  frosty  day  towards  the  end  of  Febru- 
ary when  we  moved  to  our  new  house,  and  the  short 
afternoon  was  already  darkening  as  we  got  into  a  taxi 
at  the  station  of  Sylverdale.  Although  I  was  tired, 
inward  excitement  kept  a  series  of  eager  exclamations 
bubbling  from  my  lips — "  What  heaps  of  trees  and 

[271] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


how  lovely  they'll  be  in  the  spring,  won't  they?  And 
isn't  the  church  dear,  and  all  the  pretty  houses. 
We're  going  down  the  avenue,  we're  stopping — Eddie, 
we're  here." 

"We're  here!"  said  he. 

As  he  helped  me  out  of  the  taxi,  the  house  was 
faintly  visible — a  gable,  a  porch,  surrounding  trees. 
There  was  a  feeling  of  freshness  and  peace — no  sounds 
but  those  which  Mother  Nature  always  whispers. 

When  I  got  up  next  morning  and  looked  around  my 
little  domain  my  heart  opened  in  a  song  of  delight. 
The  lower  part  of  the  house  was  of  a  dazzling  white 
stucco,  the  upper,  dark  brown  shingles.  It  had  a 
sunny  youthful  air,  it  reminded  me  of  a  doll's  house 
with  which  I  had  played  as  a  child.  Contrasted  with 
Meadovvmere  it  was  like  the  pert  playfulness  of  a 
terrier  puppy  to  the  staid  wisdom  of  an  old  Newfound- 
land, but  I  loved  it  from  that  first  moment,  and  as  I 
went  from  room  to  room,  planning  and  dreaming,  I 
saw  before  me  a  "  home." 

Eddie  had  followed  out  my  request;  nothing  had 
been  done,  the  furniture  was  piled  up  neatly  in  a 
corner.  It  was  all  waiting  for  the  love  and  thought 
with  which  I  was  going  to  arrange  it. 

As  I  prepared  our  picnic  breakfast  I  hummed  a 
tune  and  when  I  set  it  on  the  table  I  said  gaily,  "  It's 
right  on  time,  sir!  In  spite  of  drawbacks  you've  half 
an  hour  before  train  time." 

He  looked  up  at  me  grinning.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
catch  any  train." 

[272] 


Sunrise 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  my  taking  a  day  off. 
I  know  you'll  go  and  work  like  a  little  slave  if  I'm  not 
here  to  prevent  it." 

I  jumped  up  and  made  a  dive  round  the  table.  "  Oh, 
Eddie,  a  holiday — what  a  grand  time  we'll  have."  And 
he  was  still  grinning  even  though  my  impulsive  caress 
had  ruffled  his  hair. 

How  I  chattered  that  evening  over  dinner  as  I  made 
further  eager  suggestions.  Did  he  like  the  piano  here 
— or  there  ?  Wouldn't  warm  brown  shades  look  lovely 
against  the  pale  tan  walls  ?  Or  would  a  soft  blue  look 
better?  We  were  still  discussing  the  merits  of  brown 
or  blue  when  he  had  to  hurry  away  to  catch  his  train 
next  morning.  But  I  did  not  feel  lonely.  What  fun 
it  was  to  go  out  on  to  the  porch  and  wave  good-bye, 
getting  a  breath  of  the  keen  cold  air,  and  then  turn 
back  with  a  satisfied  sigh  because  there  was  such  lots 
to  do. 

It  was  the  end  house  in  a  short  avenue,  and  thus  on 
the  right  there  was  nothing  between  it  and  a  thick  belt 
of  trees.  Beyond,  through  their  bare  branches,  I  could 
get  a  glimpse  of  open  country,  rising  gradually  into 
a  high  ridge.  Another  hill-top — what  was  on  the 
other  side? 

In  the  next  few  days  I  was  intensely  happy,  glory- 
ing in  Eddie's  kind  smile  as  he  praised  the  results  of 
my  work.  "  Bully  little  place,  isn't  it?  You're  mak- 
ing it  look  fine !  " 

I  didn't  want  any  companion  during  the  day.     I 

[273] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


was  never  lonely  in  my  new  home,  there  was  so  much 
to  do.  Home !  What  happiness  in  the  word  and  when 
at  the  week  end  I  helped  Eddie  to  hang  the  pictures, 
the  spirit  of  the  holiday  at  Sunnydale  came  back  to 
us,  with  the  deeper  emotion  of  marriage  added  to  it. 

For  several  weeks  I  had  no  other  interest  but  the 
house.  I  only  went  out  to  buy  food  and  then  hurried 
back  to  do  some  more  planning.  When  it  was  all 
finished,  even  to  the  black  cat  which  Eddie  had  bought 
for  me,  and  which  would  scarcely  stir  from  the  bright 
wood  fire — a  real  fire! — I  heaved  a  sigh  of  content- 
ment. We  had  a  home.  There  had  always  been  too 
much  furniture  for  the  apartment  and  now  that  it 
was  spread  out,  it  looked  better.  The  place  had  a 
simple  cheerful  look;  bright  chintzes,  rugs  on  the  pol- 
ished floors,  gleaming  white  woodwork,  a  feeling  of 
space,  and  glimpses  of  the  country  from  the  living- 
room  windows. 

When  Mrs.  Boynton  came  out  to  see  it,  her  eyes 
gleamed  with  appreciation.  "  Funny,  isn't  it,  how 
folks'll  go  on  living  in  an  apartment  with  the  pleasure 
of  an  occasional  view  of  a  white-washed  wall,  and 
never  know  what  a  home  looks  like!  I  wonder  if 
there's  another  little  show  like  this  around  here,  Mar- 
garet, because  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  Popper  and 
I  didn't  find  our  way  to  it.  Of  course  Maisie  wouldn't 
have  heard  of  it,  but  now  she's  not  concerned,  and  with 
you  and  Ed  here — well !  Maybe  I  wouldn't  be  happy 
in  a  place  like  this !  Gee,  you  watch  me !  " 

"  We'll  go  househunting  for  you." 

[274] 


Sunrise 

She  looked  around  her  with  a  pleased  smile. 
"  You've  fixed  it  fine,  Margaret,  and  you  look  better 
already." 

I  laughed.  "  I'm  quite  happy  now  I  have  a  house 
and  I'm  looking  forward  to  doing  the  garden  next. 
I've  even  something  to  '  mother,'  "  I  said,  cuddling 
the  black  kitten  in  my  arms,  and  at  her  beaming  smile, 
I  expanded  further.  "  You've  no  idea  how  I've  missed 
something  which  wanted  petting  and  protecting.  At 
home  I  was  always  used  to  heaps  of  animals  and  all 
the  babies  in  the  village  were  my  children,  and  here 
there  was  nothing  helpless  which  needed  '  mother- 
ing.'  " 

"  Why,  you've  been  looking  too  far  away  from 
home." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  I  asked,  startled  by  the  sud- 
den thought  that  Eddie  had  told  her  the  news  in  spite 
of  our  agreement  to  keep  it  secret  for  a  little  while. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  your  husband?  " 

I  burst  out  laughing — "  Eddie !  I  can't  imagine 
such  a  thing." 

She  leaned  forward,  patting  my  knee  with  her  hand 
as  she  said  seriously. 

"  Don't  make  any  mistake.  Ed,  for  all  his  confi- 
dence, wants  *  mothering '  just  as  bad  as  any  man. 
They're  none  of  them  too  grand  or  too  clever  to  be 
the  worse  off  for  a  little  petting.  But  it's  an  art,  it's 
got  to  be  learned  like  anything  else.  You  mustn't  put 
it  on  too  thick,  I  can  tell  you." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

[275] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  Do !  Why,  it's  hard  to  put  it  into  words,  but 

there's  a  mighty  lot  of  little  things "  Her  eyes 

twinkled  as  she  went  on — "  If  he's  in  when  you're 
baking,  take  him  a  piece  of  pie;  if  he's  been  gardening 
on  a  hot  Saturday  afternoon,  take  him  a  cold  drink — 
he's  likely  been  thirsty  for  an  hour  or  more,  but  thinks 
he's  just  got  to  finish  weeding  that  darned  walk  before 
it  gets  dark.  And  just  where  he's  getting  to  feel  a 
martyr  to  work,  the  sound  of  ice  clinking  on  the  glass 
and  the  bit  of  attention  changes  the  outlook  and  he'll 
end  up  with  a  jolly  expanding  feeling  that  it's  bully 
having  a  house  and  a  garden — and  a  wife." 

"You're  not  speaking  literally?"  I  asked,  puzzled 
by  her  quizzical  look. 

"  Perhaps!  "  she  answered,  shaking  with  her  merry 
chuckle,  "  Perhaps  not,  you'll  learn  some  day — but, 
anyhow,  give  him  a  bit  of  praise  when  he's  done  some- 
thing he  ought  to,  but  don't  want  to.  If  he's  got  a 
grouch,  be  sympathetic,  but  keep  well  in  the  back- 
ground, and  if  he's  tired  and  irritable,  for  the  lord's 
sake,  don't  choose  just  that  minute  to  sit  down  and  say, 
'  Now  let's  argue  it  out  like  two  sensible  grown-up 
people,'  because  at  such  times  he's  as  far  from  being 
sensible  and  grown-up  as  a  caterpillar  is  from  being  a 
butterfly." 

I  thought  of  that  queer  tugging  tenderness  which 
had  come  over  me  at  the  sight  of  Eddie  bringing  my 
breakfast;  I  remembered  my  impulse  to  stroke  his  head 
when  he  looked  tired  and  weary  and  how  resentment 
had  stayed  my  hand.  Had  I  been  wasting  this  ma- 
[27,6] 


Sunrise 

ternal  love,  bottling  it  up  in  my  heart  because  I  thought 
no  one  wanted  its  tender  protectiveness  ?  The  feeling 
I  had  for  my  husband  was  a  passionate  love,  jealous, 
exacting,  making  few  allowances,  demanding  much — 
but  the  mother-love  was  big  enough  to  overlook,  to 
sacrifice  rather  than  demand,  to  give  rather  than  take ; 
it  was  tender  rather  than  fierce  and  jealous.  Had  I 
been  missing  that  from  my  love  for  my  husband  ? 

I  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  large  con- 
tented woman  in  front  of  me  and  saw  with  a  broader 
vision  beyond  the  veil  of  outward  manners,  beyond  the 
gilt  of  social  usage;  her  face  shone  with  good-nature, 
her  heart  overflowed  with  this  large  generous  mother- 
love.  She  had  not  turned  disdainfully  from  the  in- 
competence of  her  son's  wife,  but  had  given  willingly 
of  her  experience;  she  had  not  interfered,  yet  had  tried 
to  help  me.  Quick  as  a  flash,  the  thought  came — "  Let 
her  share  in  your  happiness  now,  at  once;  you  know 
how  she  will  rejoice!"  But  I  answered  it  instantly 
with  a  "  No,"  I  was  too  shy  to  tell  her,  besides  I 
wanted  to  keep  the  joy  of  the  knowledge  to  ourselves 
for  a  little  time. 

And  then  I  had  a  curious  sensation — just  as  if  I  had 
shouted  the  words  aloud,  and  they  had  struck  an 
echo,  the  air  seemed  to  be  full  of  "  I  want — I  want 
— always  I  want!  "  I  shrank  away  from  this  illumina- 
tion, but  it  searched  me  out  and  I  saw  myself  as  a 
judge  might  have  seen  me.  In  self -denunciation  I 
muttered,  "  It's  true,  I  have  been  thinking  only  of 
myself.  I  thought  I  was  making  a  sacrifice  in  giving 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


up  my  home  for  Eddie,  but  it  wasn't  for  him,  it  was 
because  I  wanted  him  more  than  anything  else.  All 
the  time  that's  all  I  have  thought  of,  what  I  wanted." 

"Why,  Margaret,  what's  the  matter?  What  are 
you  muttering?  " 

I  came  back  with  a  quick  breath,  then  with  sudden 
resolve,  "  I  hope  I  shall  have  something  else  to 
'  mother  '  before  next  winter." 

Slowly,  as  she  grasped  the  meaning  of  my  words, 
Eddie's  mother  seemed  to  expand  with  a  glowing 
happiness.  Through  unshed  tears  her  eyes  sparkled 
while  her  lips  trembled  a  little  before  parting  with  the 
low  words — "  Oh,  Margaret,  don't  that  make  me 
happy!  You  can't  guess  how  I've  wanted  a  grand- 
child. The  thought  of  it  is  like  beginning  life  all 
over  again." 

"  I'm  glad  you're  happy,"  I  whispered,  and  I  was 
still  further  glad  when  I  told  Eddie  and  saw  the  satis- 
fied look  on  his  face.  "  I  wanted  her  to  know,"  he 
said. 

As  I  was  undressing  that  night,  I  looked  into  my 
mirror  with  serious  eyes.  "  Do  you  know  I  think 
there's  some  hope  for  Margaret  Miller,  I  think  she's 
beginning  to  get  just  a  glimpse  of  what  life  means, 
don't  you,  Mrs.  Boynton?"  And  I  nodded  at  the 
reflection,  breaking  into  a  happy  laugh,  and  soon  after 
fell  asleep  with  a  feeling  of  deep  content. 

As  soon  as  the  house  was  finished  I  was  all  on  fire 
to  begin  the  garden,  but  it  was  some  little  time  before 
I  could  get  to  work  for  next  morning  I  collapsed  again 
[278] 


Sunrise 

— "  Overstrain,"  said  the  doctor,  "  entire  rest  for  a 
few  days !  " 

But  I  did  not  mind  his  verdict.  I  felt  delightfully 
lazy,  quite  content  to  lie  and  watch  Mrs.  Boynton,  who 
had  good-naturedly  said  she  would  stay  till  I  was  well. 

That  evening  Eddie  came  home  with  the  news  that 
he  had  gone  up  to  town  with  our  next-door  neighbour 
— "  Seems  a  nice  kind  of  chap,  name  is  Eaves,  plays 
golf,  so  does  his  wife.  He  said  she  was  coming  to 
call  on  you,  but  I  told  him  to  leave  it  till  next  week 
as  you  were  sick." 

Next  afternoon  as  I  was  dozing  it  seemed  as  though 
I  saw  the  door  open  and  a  little  child  stand  there  with 
the  light  on  its  fair  hair  and  in  its  hand  a  bunch  of 
flowers. 

"  Mother  sent  you  these — she  grew  them  all  her- 
self— and  I'm  not  to  stay." 

I  closed  my  eyes  and  opened  them.  The  room  was 
empty  again  and  with  a  catch  in  my  throat  I  thought 
I  had  been  dreaming.  I  began  to  turn  my  head,  sigh- 
ing after  the  beauty  of  the  vision,  when  I  saw  on  the 
white  cover,  their  mauve  and  yellow  in  delicate  relief, 
a  bunch  of  early  spring  flowers.  Half  fearfully  I  put 
out  my  hand — were  they  real?  It  closed  on  a  soft 
damp  violet,  and  I  caught  them  up  and  buried  my  face 
in  their  fragrance. 

From  Mother's  garden !  Not  grown  in  a  hot  house, 
raised  by  paid  labour,  tied  with  pink  ribbons,  labelled 
in  a  Fifth  Avenue  store,  and  costing  so  many  dollars, 
just  another  emblem  of  what  money  could  buy — but 

[279] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


grown  by  a  woman,  watched  over  by  her,  loved  by  her, 
and  gathered  especially  for  a  sick  neighbour  to  show 
kindly  sympathy!  How  personal,  how  lovable,  how 
different  they  seemed  from  the  huge  bouquets  which 
had  been  bought  for  me.  .  .  .  "  A  posy  for  Miss 
Margaret!" — a  fat  grubby  childish  hand,  stalks  that 
were  always  too  short,  crushed  petals,  but  love  behind 
the  gift.  .  .  .  Oh,  Sunnydale,  is  this  not  a  sign  that 
I  shall  be  able  to  make  a  real  home  out  here ! 


[280] 


Chapter  Three 


SEVERAL  days  went  by  before  I  was  up  again  and 
able  to  thank  Mrs.  Eaves  for  her  flowers.  I  found 
that  she  too  was  an  ardent  gardener  and  soon  our 
heads  were  nodding  over  our  bits  of  yards.  It  was 
such  a  delight  to  get  away  from  Maisie's  perpetual 
conversation  about  clothes — not  that,  being  women, 
they  were  never  a  subject  we  discussed,  but  they  were 
not  the  main  thought  in  life!  And  in  working  near 
to  Mother  Earth  and  in  the  cultivation  of  the  things 
which  grow  out  of  her  peaceful  bosom,  I  began  to  for- 
get that  I  had  ever  known  the  curse  of  nerves.  Mar- 
jorie,  Mrs.  Eaves'  little  girl,  helped  me;  she  was  five 
years  old  and  judging  from  her  quaintly  given  opinions 
about  the  art  of  growing  flowers,  she  was  quite  as  much 
an  expert  as  her  mother.  How  I  laughed  to  hear  the 
baby  laying  down  the  law  to  me!  Not  for  many 
months  had  my  laugh  rung  out  so  true  and  clear; 
inner  contentment  and  happiness  spread  outwardly 
into  pink  cheeks  and  glowing  eyes. 

"  Something  seems  to  suit  you ! "  said  Eddie  jok- 
ingly one  day.  If  only  I  could  get  him  to  relax  a  little, 
if  only  I  could  get  even  a  little  bit  of  that  dream  of 
success  out  of  his  head,  what  a  peaceful  life  we  might 
lead,  with  enough  to  live  on  for  our  simple  tastes,  and 

[281] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


enough  to  educate  the  child  thoroughly  and  compe- 
tently, so  that  when  the  time  came  it  might  be  able  to 
earn  a  living.  Then  perhaps — Meadovvmere !  Would 
that  ever  come? 

I  knew  that  opposition  was  fatal,  persuasion  had 
failed,  what  else  could  I  do  to  help  Eddie  to  relax? 

Eaves  was  a  jolly  fat  man,  with  a  healthy  face,  who 
turned  out  for  golf  every  week  end,  and  sometimes,  I 
believed,  on  an  afternoon  in  the  week,  too.  I  asked 
him  where  he  played.  "  At  the  Country  Club,"  he 
answered.  "  You  and  your  husband  ought  to  join. 
We  get  fine  golf,  then  there's  tennis  and  the  women 
seem  to  enjoy  it  socially." 

"  My  husband  says  he  is  too  busy." 

His  eyes  twinkled.  "  That's  what  I  used  to  say. 
But  once  get  him  started  with  golf — then! "  His  ex- 
pressive face  said  volumes. 

"  I  wish  I  could ;  he  needs  exercise  and  outdoor  life 
badly." 

"  You  leave  it  to  me,"  he  said,  the  humorous  lips 
closing  into  a  strong  smile. 

Next  day  Eddie  came  home  with  a  "  Met  Eaves  on 
the  train  and  he  asked  me  to  go  in  for  a  game  of 
cards  to-night.  Do  you  mind?" 

"  I'd  like  you  to  go,  and  I'll  ask  his  wife  to  come 
and  chat  with  me." 

Eddie  had  not  come  in  when  I  went  to  bed,  but  at 

breakfast   he  looked   up    from   the   financial   news; 

"  Those  darned  chaps  talked  nothing  else  but  golf. 

You'd   think   they   hadn't   another   interest   in   life. 

[282] 


Sunrise 

People  who  only  have  one  subject  of  conversation  make 
me  tired!  " 

I  hid  a  smile ;  there  were  people  who  could  only  talk 
about  business,  but  I  was  learning  that  there  were 
many  thoughts  that  were  better  left  unspoken  and 
something  had  been  achieved,  even  if  it  were  only  the 
unusual  divorce  of  his  thoughts  from  the  financial 
news  for  a  few  moments ! 

"  Didn't  you  enjoy  the  evening  then?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  they  were  mighty  nice  chaps,  but  I  felt 
rather  out  of  it,  all  the  fellers  talking  about  handicaps 
and  wonderful  shots.  I  tried  to  get  them  going  on  the 
market  when  they  happened  to  get  short  of  breath, 
but  it  was  no  go,  back  they'd  come  to  golf.  And  yet 
one  of  them  was  Johns,  the  big  stockbroker — you'd 
suppose  he'd  be  interested  in  one  or  two  remarks  I 
made!" 

So  Mr.  Eaves  had  kept  his  word ! 

A  week  later  on  Saturday  afternoon  Eddie  came 
home,  much  to  my  surprise  as  he  seldom  took  the  half 
holiday,  and  with  a  casual  air  he  asked,  "  Doing  any- 
thing this  afternoon?  " 

"No,  why?" 

"  Eaves  suggests  driving  us  out  to  the  Country 
Club." 

"  Oh,  Eddie,  that  would  be  glorious,  let's  go." 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon  in  early  May.  As 
Mrs.  Eaves  had  told  me  that  women  were  not  wel- 
comed on  the  golf  course  on  a  holiday  I  felt  quite 
comfortable  in  knowing  that  she  was  not  making  any 

[283] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


sacrifice  by  staying  on  the  porch  with  me.  I  liked  her 
very  much;  she  was  so  sensible,  so  jolly  and  sociable, 
she  seemed  to  enjoy  life  so  thoroughly.  And  the 
women  to  whom  she  introduced  me  all  had  this  same 
air  of  happiness,  of  entering  completely  into  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  moment,  of  welcoming  me  so  affably  into 
their  midst. 

Away  from  the  shade  of  the  wide  porch  the  bril- 
liant searching  sunshine  lit  up  the  countryside.  In  the 
distance  a  faint  purple  outline  showed  the  protecting 
presence  of  the  ridge  of  hills,  and  as  I  watched  the 
vigorous  tennis  players,  the  keen-eyed  golfers,  I  knew 
a  deep  sense  of  contentment  in  the  peaceful  homeli- 
ness of  the  scene. 

It  might  have  been  a  picture  of  many  a  countryside 
in  England ;  about  the  people  who  surrounded  me  was 
nothing  which  typified  any  essential  contrast  between 
us.  As  I  listened  to  the  scraps  of  conversation  around 
us,  I  understood  a  little  of  the  lives  of  the  speakers,  of 
their  business,  families,  homes,  amusements.  I  heard 
of  willing  service  for  the  welfare  of  the  community, 
of  common  interests.  It  was  impossible  to  believe  that 
New  York  was  only  twenty  miles  away;  as  I  enjoyed 
the  peaceful  happiness  of  the  scene  before  me  it  seemed 
that  we  must  be  in  another  country  which  had  escaped 
the  shadow  of  the  art  of  making  money. 

Realisation  slowly  began  to  pierce  the  subconscious- 
ness  which  had  persisted  in  seeing  only  the  follies  of 
Maisie  and  her  crowd.  My  attitude  had  been  all 
wrong.  Resentful,  critical,  I  had  set  my  eyes  in  a 
[284] 


Sunrise 

narrow  path  and  refused  to  look  beyond  it.  In  spite 
of  the  extremity  of  the  contrast  which  Mary  Harden 
had  offered  to  Maisie's  type,  it  had  not  opened  my 
eyes  to  the  possibility  of  other  varying  contrasts  in 
the  great  city,  to  the  possibility  that  if  I  had  sought 
in  the  right  spirit  I  might  there  have  found  others  as 
congenial  as  Mrs.  Eaves  had  proved  to  be. 

With  the  realisation  came  a  groping  understanding 
that  New  York  was  but  a  tiny  space  in  an  enormous 
country;  that  as  Mary  Harden  differed  from  Maisie, 
so  even  there  were  people  to  whom  the  electrically- 
lighted,  money-driven  life  of  which  I  had  been  a  part 
seemed  just  as  mad  a  phase  as  it  did  to  me.  And  as 
I  absorbed  the  wholesomeness  of  the  scene  around  me 
I  knew  that  Maisie  was  a  hot-house  growth,  springing 
from  the  plentiful  opportunity,  from  the  lavishness  of 
a  new  country;  that  even  Mary  Harden,  brilliant 
example  of  the  intellectual  life  though  she  was,  was 
less  important  to  the  nation  than  a  woman  like  Mrs. 
Eaves,  home-loving,  public-spirited,  energetic  and  in- 
telligent, the  mother  of  future  generations. 

There  was  much  that  I  could  learn  from  her;  her 
outlook  was  broader,  less  centred  than  mine,  but  I 
was  gradually  appreciating  the  fact  that  our  ideals 
were  the  same ;  that  with  a  little  kindly  tact  the  super- 
ficial points  of  difference  between  us  could  be  smoothed 
into  a  firm  and  charming  friendship. 

As  the  cold  critical  attitude  fell  away  into  a  new 
warmth  which  sought  eagerly  for  this  friendship,  I 
thought  that  New  York  ought  to  be  a  walled  city,  to 

[285] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


which  strangers  were  only  entitled  to  enter  after  long 
residence  in  other  parts  of  the  country.  For  because 
it  gathers  unto  itself  all  that  is  most  extravagant,  bi- 
zarre, overdressed,  overwealthy,  the  eyes  of  the  mis- 
understanding and  dazzled  foreigner  can  see  nothing 
of  the  human  life  underneath  these  abnormalities.  .  .  . 

"  It's  beautiful  here,  isn't  it,  Eddie?  "  I  asked  softly. 

"  It  certainly  is.  I've  been  watching  that  youngster. 
He's  some  tennis  player.  I  haven't  had  a  game  since  I 
was  at  college." 

"  Why  don't  you  join  the  club  and  play  again,  or 
take  up  golf?  "  asked  Mrs.  Eaves. 

"  I  haven't  time,"  my  husband  answered  firmly. 

But  the  subtle  power  of  suggestion  was  working  and 
a  few  days  later  he  came  in  with  a  rather  irritable, 
"  Eaves  is  always  getting  after  me  to  join  the  club ! 
Johns  is  a  member,  of  course,  and  he'd  be  a  mighty 
useful  man  to  know." 

So  Mr.  Eaves'  persuasiveness  was  still  at  work !  As 
Eddie  thus  opened  the  subject  which  was  so  much  oc- 
cupying my  thoughts,  it  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue 
to  say,  "Why  don't  you?"  when  I  remembered  Mrs. 
Boynton's  words  of  wisdom.  Yes,  it  certainly  would 
be  better  to  wait  till  after  dinner,  and  with  a  non-com- 
mittal, "  Oh,  is  he ! "  I  let  the  matter  drop.  And  it 
was  only  when  Eddie  was  lounging  comfortably  in  his 
chair,  cigar  lit,  attitude  typical  of  a  contentment  which 
had  been  missing  when  he  came  in  that  I  said, 

"  Why  don't  you  join  the  club,  it  would  do  you  heaps 
of  good,  and  I  should  enjoy  it  immensely." 
[286] 


Sunrise 

Back  came  the  same  old  cry — "  I  haven't  time." 

"  You  never  will  have  time  if  you  don't  insist  on 
making  the  opportunity.  Are  you  going  to  spend  the 
next  twenty  years  of  your  life  only  in  making  money? 
Then  at  fifty  you  will  be  an  old  man,  without  an 
interest  in  living.  If  you  would  only  drop  the  mad 
excitement  of  gambling  on  the  market,  and  just  keep 
to  your  legitimate  consulting  work,  your  mind  would 
be  easier,  and  you'd  have  heaps  of  time.  Boltons  are 
not  slave  drivers,  I'm  sure." 

"  No,  they're  dandy  people.  But  it's  such  a  help 
to  make  that  bit  on  the  side.  I  can't  drop  it,  especially 
now — why,  there  is  all  the  more  reason  for  me  to  work 
harder  than  ever  now.  There's  a  further  object  in 
getting  on,  which,  after  all,  means  making  money." 

"  No !  "  I  said  seriously,  "  I  don't  look  at  it  like 
that.  Every  parent  ought  to  do  all  he  can  for  his 
child,  but  only  without  injuring  himself,  either  intel- 
lectually, morally  or  physically.  What  use  is  it  to  a 
son  if  his  father  leaves  him  a  million  at  his  death,  if 
that  son  has  never  known  a  father — if  he  has  just 
looked  upon  him  as  a  money-making  machine? 
Wouldn't  the  boy  have  profited  more  if  he  had  had 
a  real  father,  a  companion,  a  guide,  a  help,  an  elder 
man  with  a  young  heart,  knowing  life  and  helping  his 
boy  to  know  it  in  the  right  way?  Oh,  Eddie,  it  is 
wrong  to  think  only  of  the  children,  we  have  a  duty  to 
ourselves  and  if  we  fail  in  that  it  will  reflect  on  them." 

"  What  is  our  duty  to  ourselves  ?  " 

'  To  enjoy  life — I  don't  mean  just  enjoy  pleasure, 

[287] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


that's  different.  But  to  learn  to  enjoy  life,  to  get  the 
fullest  happiness  out  of  it,  to  work  honestly,  to  play 
joyfully,  to  see  beauty  in  the  wonderful  earth  around 
us.  You  can't  do  that  if  your  vision  is  limited  to  mak- 
ing money  or  winning  fame  just  for  the  sake  of  money 
or  fame." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  live  proportionately.  I  don't  want 
to  see  you  work  so  hard  that  you  are  too  tired  to  play 
— that's  wrong.  You  will  make  enough  to  educate  our 
child  well  and  sufficiently,  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid,  then 
let  it  stand  on  its  own  feet,  having  all  those  years  of 
a  beautiful  childhood,  with  parents  who  are  young 
enough  in  heart  to  be  friends,  companions,  playmates, 
to  keep  it  standing." 

"That's  all  right  in  theory,"  he  said,  a  little 
grumpily.  But  I  noticed  that  he  was  often  thought- 
ful in  the  next  few  weeks,  and  I  do  not  think  his 
thoughts  were  always  on  the  market.  The  game  of 
cards  with  Eaves  and  his  friends  became  a  weekly 
habit.  And  at  the  end  of  June  he  joined  the  club ! 

I  was  content.  My  little  world  began  to  get  nar- 
rower as  I  spent  a  good  deal  of  my  time  sitting  on  the 
porch,  while  into  the  sunny  atmosphere  of  my  home  a 
fair-haired  Swedish  girl  was  introduced  so  that  I 
might  not  be  alone.  As  the  horizon  closed  my  thoughts 
roamed  far  afield — away  to  my  old  home  and  to  my 
father  and  Tom. 

He  had  joined  the  Australian  contingent  as  a  pri- 
vate, had  worked  his  way  to  a  commission  and  had 
[288] 


Sunrise 

been  wounded  in  a  gallant  action.  It  had  brought 
about  one  happy  result — his  reconciliation  with  Father. 
I  could  read  a  queer  reserved  pride  in  the  stilted  lines 
of  Father's  letter  as  he  told  me  that  Tom  was  coming 
home  to  Meadowmere  to  convalesce  and  that  he  was 
glad  he  bore  the  Miller  name.  I  wished  that  I  had 
written  home  more  often,  but  my  pride  had  made  me 
afraid  that  they  might  read  between  the  lines  that  I 
was  not  happy  and  that  Mother  would  then  feel  that 
she  had  been  right  after  all,  so  letters  had  gradually 
become  less  and  less  frequent.  But  after — I  would 
write  often.  I  would  show  Father  how  much  I  loved 
him. 

As  the  hot  weather  came  I  had  moments  of  keen 
longing  for  the  coolness  of  the  Mere,  but  then  I  would 
look  up  from  the  little  garments  I  was  sewing  as  I  sat 
in  the  shady  porch,  past  the  garden  with  its  bright 
flowers,  into  the  thick  trees  on  the  right,  and  in  the 
shade  of  their  greenness  I  would  find  peace  and  some- 
how the  air  would  seem  less  hot  and  the  longing  would 
pass  into  thoughts  of  the  new  happiness  which  was 
coming.  Then  my  hands  would  lie  idle  and  I  would 
dream  of  a  wonderful  future  for  our  child  and  a  feel- 
ing of  awe  would  come  to  me  that  I  would  have  so 
much  power  in  the  shaping  of  a  life.  And  as  my  eyes 
rested  on  the  trees  I  thought  of  the  distant  ridge — 

"  Is  there  a  lovely  view  from  it  ?  "  I  had  asked  Eddie 
one  day,  and  he  had  answered, 

"  I  don't  know,  but  if  you  like  we'll  hire  a  machine 
and  go  and  look." 

[289] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  No,  I'd  like  to  wait — until  afterwards — and  tramp 
up  there  some  morning,  perhaps  early  enough  to  see 
the  sunrise." 

And  he  had  bent  and  kissed  me  with  that  softening 
of  his  face  which  the  thought  of  our  child  always 
brought.  But  I  had  not  told  him  the  chief  reason  for 
wanting  to  wait.  When  I  had  watched  the  sun  rise 
from  the  hill  at  Sunnydale  on  that  morning  of  my 
departure,  I  had  been  so  sure  of  the  future,  I  had  never 
had  a  doubt.  Now  I  was  learning  that  happiness  has 
to  be  won,  that  it  does  not  just  fall  at  one's  feet — and 
I  wanted  to  see  if  I  had  earned  the  right  to  a  beautiful 
day.  I  wanted  to  serve  my  probation  and  then  if  I 
felt  that  Life  was  set  towards  the  right  goal,  I  could 
watch  the  sun  rising  over  the  hill-top,  glorying  in  the 
promise  of  another  day. 

As  I  was  sitting  on  the  porch  one  Saturday  after- 
noon towards  the  end  of  August,  waiting  for  Eddie 
to  come  home  from  golf,  I  heard  the  postman's 
whistle  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  as  soon  as  he 
came  into  sight  I  called  out  gaily,  "  Anything  for 
me?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  he,  handing  me  a  letter. 

It  was  in  Tom's  writing,  posted  from  Sunnydale. 
So  he  was  home!  How  gloriously  happy  Mother 
would  be.  But  why  was  it  addressed  to  Eddie  ?  Any- 
way, I  couldn't  wait  till  he  came  home  for  the  news — 
"  I'm  going  to  open  it,"  I  said,  smiling  as  I  thought 
that  I  was  meddling  with  my  husband's  correspond- 
ence. 

[290] 


Sunrise 

Part  of  a  sentence  leapt  out  at  me  .  .  .  "  Father 
died  with  tragic  suddenness  ..." 

"  My  father  is  dead !  "  I  heard  some  one  say  it  out 
loud,  distinctly,  then  stupidly  again  and  again,  "  He 
can't  be,  I  was  going  to  show  him  how  much  I  loved 
him — he  can't  be  " — then  a  laugh,  low  at  first,  but 
rising  gradually  into  a  shrill  torrent  of  sound.  I 
listened  breathlessly — it  stopped — I  sighed  with  relief, 
it  started  again.  "Am  I  making  that  noise?"  I 
thought  in  terror. 

Suddenly  something  seized  me — a  great  remorse- 
less something  seized  my  body  and  began  tearing  it, 
with  increasing  strength.  Pain  wiped  every  thought 
out  of  my  mind.  It  seemed  to  hold  me  in  its  grip  for 
hours.  Then  as  it  slackened  its  hold,  I  took  a  slow 
breath,  wondering  if  I  were  still  alive.  My  mind 
slowly  groped  to  find  out  what  had  happened. 

And  in  a  flash  the  knowledge  came — this  is  the 
beginning.  .  .  .  I  am  going  down  into  the  valley  to 
find  a  little  child. 


[291] 


Chapter  Four 


I  DON'T  think  I  shall  ever  again  be  doubtful  of 
my  husband's  love.  His  face  had  the  strained 
white  look  of  a  man  who  had  been  tortured,  mentally 
rather  than  physically.  If  I  had  suffered,  he  had  suf- 
fered with  me,  minute  by  minute,  hour  by  hour.  And 
because  his  suffering  was  passive,  that  of  waiting  and 
hoping,  perhaps  it  had  been  even  worse  than  mine. 

He  came  over  to  the  bed  on  tiptoe,  his  grey  eyes  big 
and  eager  in  a  face  so  white  that  it  looked  thinner. 
He  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  breathing  for  fear  of  dis- 
turbing me. 

"  You  are  all  right.    Thank  God !  " 

And  when  he  saw  the  child  lying  on  my  arm,  over 
his  face  there  spread  the  smile  which  had  hitherto  only 
been  for  me — now  it  enveloped  us  both,  wife  and  son, 
in  a  soft  tenderness  which  altered  the  hard  lines  till 
his  face  glowed  with  a  love  which  was  almost  spiritual. 

For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke — words  would 
have  disturbed  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  supreme 
content  which  surrounded  us.  The  only  sound  was 
the  soft  breathing  of  the  child  and  the  ticking  of  a  little 
china  clock,  my  last  birthday  present.  And  the  spirit 
of  unity  between  us  was  even  greater  than  it  had  been 
[292] 


Sunrise 

in  the  early  days  of  marriage,  for  larger  understand- 
ing had  come  out  of  sorrow  and  struggle. 

He  touched  the  wrinkled  pink  hand  of  our  little  son 
and  he  laughed,  a  queer  sound  deep  in  his  throat.  "  It 
was  hell  till  I  knew  you  were  all  right.  I  want  you 
to  get  well  quickly,  it's  terribly  lonesome  without  you 
round." 

I  smiled  softly.  How  foolish  I  had  been  to  think 
that  it  was  only  business  that  counted  with  him! 

After  he  had  left  me,  a  sentence  began  to  run 
through  my  memory.  I  had  heard  some  one  say,  "  My 
father  is  dead,"  but  I  could  not  give  it  any  connection. 
"  Eddie,"  I  said,  when  I  saw  him  again,  "  something  is 
puzzling  me,  I  can't  remember " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  letter,  I  found  it  by  your  side." 

"  The  letter?  " — and  then  my  brain  cleared.  It  was 
my  own  father.  Poor,  poor  father !  "  Please  give  it 
to  me." 

I  could  hardly  believe  that  Tom  had  written  it,  the 
tone  was  so  different,  and  he  had  addressed  it  to  Eddie 
for  fear  the  news  might  hurt  me,  so  that  it  might  be 
withheld  if  necessary — such  thoughtfulness  in  the  old 
lordly  Tom ! 

"  Father  died  with  tragic  suddenness,"  he  wrote, 
"of  heart  trouble  we  never  knew  about.  I  am  glad  to 
think  he  forgave  me,  for  though  he  never  said  much, 
he  seemed  to  have  a  queer  kind  of  pride  in  me. 

"  And  so,  old  girl,  you  are  now  the  owner  of 
Meadowmere!  It's  strange,  isn't  it,  how  things  have 
turned  out,  for  you  were  always  so  awfully  keen  about 

[293] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


it.  Do  you  remember  how  you  nearly  killed  me  when 
I  said  I  would  let  it  to  a  farmer?  But  I  think  even 
then  my  indifference  was  put  on  partly  to  tease  you, 
partly  to  hide  the  deep  pride  of  inheritance  which  lay 
somewhere  in  my  queer  young  heart.  Now  you  are 
far  away,  and  I  am  different — I  don't  think  any  of  us 
who  have  been  through  the  war  can  feel  as  young  and 
careless  again.  Now  Meadowmere  seems  a  very 
haven  of  peace,  the  most  desirable  place  in  the 
world. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  Mother  is  well  pro- 
vided for,  but  she  hasn't  enough  to  rent  Meadowmere 
from  you  and  the  Governor  left  me  with  the  proverbial 
shilling.  I  think  he  would  have  altered  things  had  he 
lived,  for  as  I  say  we  made  our  peace.  Any  chance 
of  you  both  coming  back  to  live  here?  I  don't  know 
yet  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

Why  wasn't  he  going  back  to  fight,  I  wondered,  and 
then  as  I  turned  the  page  I  burst  into  tears.  Casually, 
with  the  pride  that  would  not  show  the  terrible  hurt, 
Tom  wrote  that  he  was  out  of  active  service,  that  his 
wound  had  left  him  permanently  lame. 

My  handsome  brother,  so  confident,  so  lordly,  so 
ready  to  take  a  risk  in  any  kind  of  sport — injured, 
lame !  And  looking  at  my  baby  son  I  kissed  him  with 
a  passion  of  pity  for  all  those  other  mothers  who  had 
to  suffer  so.  ...  And  he  was  lame! 

Then  through  pity  that  other  thought  began  to  creep. 

Meadowmere  belonged  to  me! 

What  should  I  do  with  it?     Immediately  I  was 

[294] 


Sunrise 

gripped  by  that  old  dream  of  seeing  our  son  running 
on  its  smooth  green  lawns,  riding  my  old  pony,  too 
stiff  to  be  frisky,  playing  hide-and-seek  through  the 
ancient  rooms  of  the  grey  stone  house — a  desperate 
longing  that  it  might  come  true,  that  once  more 
Meadowmere  might  be  my  home  with  all  the  extra 
happiness  of  a  husband  and  a  son  added  to  my  love  for 
it,  overbore  all  the  new  peace  I  had  won,  all  the  little 
knowledge  I  thought  I  had  gained,  all  the  conquest  of 
self  I  thought  I  had  attained. 

"  Eddie,  Meadowmere  is  mine !  •  Think  what  a 
gorgeous  home  it  would  be  for  the  child." 

"  I  know  it,  I've  been  thinking  of  that,  but  I  haven't 
decided  yet  what  I  can  do." 

"  I  want  to  go  back !  "  I  said  passionately,  urgently. 
There  was  no  longer  the  petty  desire  to  prove  that 
Eddie  loved  me,  it  was  sheer  longing  for  my  old  home 
and  its  surroundings,  for  the  fulfilment  of  that  old 
dream. 

In  the  days  which  followed  a  shadow  of  the  old 
strain  reappeared.  My  husband  seemed  a  little  harder, 
and  because  my  heart  was  set  on  the  old  longing,  some 
of  the  friction  which  had  been  absent  for  the  last  few 
months  came  back  again. 

October  came  with  its  gorgeous  flaming  colouring. 
Three  years  ago  since  Eddie  and  I  had  first  parted — 
nearly  two  years  since  we  had  been  married,  then  it 
was  two  years,  it  was  the  anniversary  of  our  wedding 
day! 

"  Margaret,"  said  he,  as  he  smiled  down  at  me 

[295] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


while  I  was  dressing  our  son,  "  I  have  a  present  for 
you." 

"  How  nice,  what  is  it?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  will  take  you  back  to  Meadowmere." 

"  You  mean  to  live?  " 

"  Yes,  to  live — for  always — until  we  die."  His 
voice  was  very  solemn. 

"  Oh,  how  glorious!  "  I  cried  joyfully,  then  stopped. 
There  was  something  in  his  face  which  was  like  that 
of  a  man  who  has  been  fighting  a  hard  fight  and  who 
finds  no  peace  in  victory.  Through  my  happiness  a 
stab  of  remorse  found  its  way. 

"  It's  for  the  child ! "  I  said,  putting  to  sleep  that 
momentary  accusation. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  doing  it  more  especially  for  you, 
it's  what  you  have  always  wanted." 

How  I  had  misjudged  him.  He  would  make  this 
great  sacrifice  for  me.  "  Thank  you,  thank  you !  "  I 
put  my  arms  around  his  neck ;  but  in  some  way  there 
seemed  to  be  a  shadow  between  our  lips. 

"  Oh,  how  happy  I  am !  "  I  breathed  it  into  the  fat 
body  of  my  son.  "How  happy  I  am!"  I  said  it 
often.  And  in  the  midst  of  saying  it  there  came  to  me 
a  memory  of  the  morning  after  my  engagement  to  Sir 
Mark,  when  my  emphatic  "  of  course,  of  course  I  am 
happy  "  had  been  used  to  silence  that  inner  warning 
that  all  was  not  well.  And  following  the  memory 
came  my  husband's  word — "What  would  be  the  use 
of  living  in  Sunnydale  and  feeling  a  life-long  sense  of 
injury  and  resentment?" — "You  know,  Margaret, 
[296] 


Sunrise 

you  are  marrying  an  American,  we  mustn't  forget 
that !  "  .  .  .1  began  to  be  a  little  afraid. 

There  was  Tom,  too.  I  had  judged  him  wrongly, 
always  thinking  that  he  did  not  care  for  Meadowmere, 
never  seeing  underneath  the  bravado  of  indifference 
with  which,  boylike,  he  had  hidden  the  deep  pride  of 
inheritance.  So  that  when  he  was  sent  away  perhaps 
the  thought  that  Meadowmere  was  his  no  longer,  that 
he  was  not  even  a  Miller,  was  not  the  least  of  his 
sufferings.  And  his  shortcomings  had  not  been  alto- 
gether his  own  fault — he  had  suffered  from  the  fric- 
tion between  my  parents,  from  Mother's  indulgence, 
from  Father's  overharshness ;  he  was  the  enduring  evi- 
dence of  a  promise  extracted  under  duress,  of  a  time 
when  love  was  matched  against  scheming — and  the 
bitterness  of  the  memory  had  reflected  upon  him. 

Now  Meadowmere  seemed  to  him  a  haven  of  peace 
which  was  denied  to  him.  And  he  was  lame!  What 
was  he  going  to  do  ? 

All  through  the  day  these  thoughts  brought  unrest 
so  that  I  no  longer  sang  about  the  house.  But  I  stifled 
them — what  did  anything  matter  in  comparison  with 
the  realisation  of  that  dream.  I  was  going  home  and 
the  lawns  would  echo  with  the  sound  of  our  baby's 
voice.  .  .  . 

"  We  are  going  back  to  Meadowmere  to  live ! "  I 
said  to  Mrs.  Boynton  next  day,  as  she  was  crooning 
over  the  baby  by  the  glowing  fire.  I  said  it  joyfully, 
gaily,  a  little  defiantly,  crushing  down  that  sense  of 
fear. 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


The  happiness  died  out  of  her  face.  "To  live! 
You  mean  you  are  going  to  take  our  Ed  away?  " 

"  Yes,  at  least  I  am  not  taking  him  away,  he  has 
agreed  to  go  there,  for  it  will  make  such  a  lovely  home 
for  the  child." 

She  gathered  his  little  body  more  closely  to  her  and 
sat  staring  into  the  fire.  Somehow  in  those  few  mo- 
ments she  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  old;  the  youthful 
sunny  smile  left  her  face  so  that  it  became  like  that  of 
an  old  tired  woman. 

Abruptly,  shaken  by  a  feeling  I  scarcely  understood, 
I  burst  into  tears  and  flung  myself  down  by  her,  bury- 
ing my  face  against  her. 

"  There,  there,"  she  murmured  as  she  patted  my 
shoulders.  "  There's  nothing  to  cry  about.  It  does 
seem  a  pity  just  when  we'd  found  a  little  house  out 
here  which  would  suit  me  to  the  T.  But  it  can't  be 
helped.  Popper  and  I'll  sure  miss  our  Ed,  and  you 
too,  Margaret,  I've  grown  mighty  fond  of  you.  But 
we  must  still  find  a  smile.  And  you'll  come  over  and 
give  us  a  sight  of  you  sometimes,  won't  you?  " 

I  raised  my  head  and  kissed  her  passionately.  And 
in  that  moment  I  knew  that  I  had  found  one  friend 
where  I  least  expected  it,  in  Eddie's  mother.  And 
I  loved  her  as  I  might  have  loved  my  own 
mother.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  Margaret  Miller,"  I  said  bitterly  after  she 
had  gone,  "  you  have  your  desire.  But  what  of  Mar- 
garet Boynton  ?  " 

Was  it  possible  that  so  few  years  had  passed  since  I 
[298] 


Sunrise 

had  said  with  childish  confidence,  "  I  won't  ever  leave 
my  home,"  and  then  the  power  which  shapes  our  des- 
tinies had  moved  another  pawn  to  check  me  and  my 
determination  had  been  of  no  avail.  I  had  been  set 
down  on  a  new  chess-board  and  the  shaping  of  my  life 
had  begun  anew. 

Now  I  had  an  opportunity  of  going  back  to  the  old 
life  again,  but  would  it  be  the  old?  Could  anything 
ever  vie  with  success  and  achievement  as  the  main 
objects  in  Eddie's  life?  He  had  the  vital  fighting 
energy  which  is  never  content  unless  there  is  a  new 
big  goal  ahead;  if  I  could  help  him  to  develop  other 
interests  which  would  keep  him  from  being  entirely  im- 
mersed in  the  hardening  struggle  to  get  to  the  top, 
that  was  all  I  could  expect.  It  wasn't  that  he  was 
mercenary,  very  far  from  that,  it  wasn't  just  the  get- 
ting of  money  which  urged  him  on.  It  was  the  power 
to  do,  to  achieve  which  spurred  his  restless  ambition. 
And  what  would  he  do  at  Sunnydale,  in  that  quiet 
peaceful  corner  of  the  world? 

"  He  is  making  a  tremendous  sacrifice  for  you,"  my 
conscience  urged.  But  had  I  not  given  up  so  much  for 
him !  "  Because  you  wanted  to.  He  showed  from 
the  first  that  he  wouldn't  give  up  his  life  here,  he 
warned  you  that  you  were  marrying  an  American. 
Now  you  are  forcing  him  to  make  this  sacrifice!  " 

Suddenly  came  the  memory  of  that  old  condemna- 
tion of  my  mother.  Because  she  had  extracted  prom- 
ises, so  had  I  judged  the  smallness  of  her  love.  Yet 
was  mine  any  deeper?  Did  we  all  use  the  instinct  of 

[299] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


a  man's  love  to  get  what  we  wanted?  All  that  was 
decent  in  me  rebelled  against  the  pettiness  of  using 
such  a  means. 

In  the  effort  to  get  away  from  such  unwelcome 
thoughts  I  took  out  Mary  Harden's  letters  and  read 
them  again.  In  the  midst  of  all  her  work  she  had  yet 
found  time  to  think  of  me  and  in  the  scraps  she  wrote 
from  all  sorts  of  queer  places,  I  had  come  to  know  her 
better,  to  find  that  in  the  gradual  knowledge  of  her 
deep  human  sympathy,  my  former  fear  of  her  intel- 
lectual superiority  had  been  put  to  sleep.  I  knew  that 
when  she  returned  I  should  have  the  courage  to  seek 
her  friendship  without  fear,  knowing  that  affection  is 
a  mighty  equaliser. 

Through  all  her  words  breathed  selflessness;  it  was 
the  keynote  of  the  struggle  over  there,  a  glorious  un- 
selfishness which  conquered  the  needs  of  the  individual, 
turning  the  natural  instinct  for  self-preservation  into  a 
pouring  out  of  effort  for  the  majority.  Her  intense 
conviction  shamed  the  narrowness  of  my  desires,  sug- 
gesting a  further  vision  that  made  me  tremble.  For 
it  was  of  the  spread  of  this  selflessness  to  America — to 
my  husband,  so  that  he  went  away  from  me,  so  that  I 
let  him  go,  ungrudgingly, — so  that  in  the  end  there  was 
nothing  left  to  me — but  Meadowmere.  And  the  empti- 
ness of  such  a  future  was  a  terrible  thought. 

I  began  to  realise  that  I  must  choose  again,  not  in 
the  spirit  in  which  the  first  choice  had  been  made,  with 
a  lingering  hope  of  having  all  as  I  would  have  it,  but 
completely,  with  better  understanding.  Either  the  old 

[300] 


Snnrise 

life  with  a  husband  whose  birthright  of  fighting  energy 
would  be  sacrificed  to  love  for  me,  who  had  once 
warned  me  that  such  a  sacrifice  might  develop  a  life- 
long feeling  of  injury  and  resentment;  or  the  new  life, 
in  my  husband's  country,  casting  away  for  ever  the 
hope  of  Meadowmere,  so  that  the  feeling  of  restless 
transience  might  turn  into  the  acceptance  of  a  new 
home,  so  that  in  love  and  duty  I  might  send  into  the 
accepted  soil  strong  shoots  which  would  take  perma- 
nent root.  Thus  without  inward  strife,  work  reso- 
lutely for  that  growth  of  mind  and  spirit  which  brings 
the  hope  of  ultimate  fulfilment. 

Vaguely,  blindly,  I  reached  after  this  perfection, 
the  limited  perfection  which  the  human  mind  can 
understand,  so  that  when  the  end  came  I  could  look 
back  and  think — "  I  have  struggled,  I  have  grown  a 
little,  I  have  learned  something  out  of  life.  I  have 
given  something  to  life,  a  human  being  to  whom  I 
have  tried  to  suggest  the  same  yearning  towards  the 
ultimate  good,  so  that  when  his  life  is  also  done,  he 
may  look  back  and  know  the  same  gleam  of  under- 
standing. It  could  only  be  a  gleam  because  of  the 
lack  of  vision,  but  it  might  be  just  enough  to  enable 
me  to  fold  my  hands  in  peace  and  die,  not  in  fear, 
perhaps  hardly  in  faith,  but  with  a  sense  of  content- 
ment in  leaving  all  the  struggles,  the  little  growth,  the 
widening  view,  to  the  judgment  of  a  Being  who,  if 
he  be  there  to  judge,  will  possess  a  perfect  under- 
standing." 

So  through  much  inward  contention,  through  self- 

[  301  ] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


ish  demands  to  take  what  was  offered  to  me,  I  reached 
my  resolve  and  peace  came  to  me.  And  in  the  victory 
I  was  conscious  of  three  friends — of  Eddie's  mother, 
of  Mary  Harden  and  my  neighbour. 


[302] 


Chapter  Five 


IT  was  a  Sunday  in  late  October,  so  warm  that  we 
were  still  enjoying  open  windows.  As  I  was  bath- 
ing the  child,  Eddie  sauntered  into  the  nursery,  paper 
in  hand. 

"Hello,  son!"  he  said,  sticking  a  finger  into  his 
fat  chest — "how  much  longer  are  you  going  to  be? 
You're  keeping  the  old  man  from  a  breakfast  which  has 
been  tempting  his  appetite  for  hours." 

"  Son  "  gurgled  and  as  I  looked  up  at  Eddie  there 
was  something  so  kind  and  "  understanding,"  so  un- 
usually peaceful  in  his  smile  that  I  said  suddenly, 

"  Eddie,  I  want  to  tramp  up  to  the  hill-top.  I  want 
to  see  the  sun  rise.  Won't  you  come  with  me,  next 
Sunday?" 

He  looked  rueful.  "  I'd  have  to  get  up  darned 
early." 

"  Would  you  mind — for  once?  "  I  said,  laughing  at 
the  face  he  pulled. 

"  Hard  luck,  my  son !  "  he  answered,  addressing  the 
baby  whose  mood  had  changed  with  its  usual  rapidity 
and  whose  lungs  were  now  open  in  a  full-mouthed  yell 
— "  Hard  luck,  ain't  it,  when  you  have  to  give  up  your 
well-earned  Sunday  morning  nap?  " 

I  caught  the  reflection  of  the  group  in  the  mirror 

[  303  J       • 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


opposite, — Eddie  bending  over  the  child,  holding  a 
pink  hand,  the  baby  warm  and  sweet  and  soft,  and  I, 
with  tender  glowing  eyes.  The  vision  of  the  woman 
in  the  flaming  dress  had  gone  for  ever,  so  had  the 
young  girl  with  the  wistful  look.  In  their  place  was 
a  woman,  smiling  in  love  and  happiness  and  content- 
ment, smiling  as  had  her  great-grandmother  in  the 
picture  in  the  hall  of  Meadowmere.  The  bond  of  hus- 
band, wife  and  child — and  the  conquest  of  self!  .  .  . 

There  was  a  sense  of  mystery  and  adventure  as  we 
tramped  through  the  dark  woods  in  the  early  morning. 
Just  as  we  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge  the  day  began 
to  dawn  and  gradually  before  our  eyes  the  view  wid- 
ened till  it  extended  to  the  sky  line  on  the  far  distant 
plain. 

"  The  setting  is  like  Sunnydale,  but  the  feeling  is 
quite  different !  "  It  was  larger,  more  rugged,  less 
peaceful — the  prim  hedges,  the  neatness  of  the  tilled 
fields  was  lacking.  There,  one  had  the  sense  of  ful- 
filment, of  completion,  of  long  possession;  here  was 
the  feeling  of  something  to  be  done,  something  to  be 
achieved. 

On  the  right  a  new  bridge  was  being  built,  and  I 
saw  the  gleam  of  yellow  upturned  earth,  and  the  new- 
ness and  whiteness  of  the  stonework.  On  the  left  were 
the  beginnings  of  a  new  suburb,  with  its  unfinished 
roads,  its  piles  of  building  material,  and  half-com- 
pleted houses.  At  Sunnydale  the  scene  had  made  for 
peace  and  a  quiet  enjoyment  of  finished  possessions; 

[304] 


Sunrise 

here  was  the  goad  to  endeavour,  the  large  landscape 
waiting  for  the  willing  hand,  the  possibility  of  what 
might  be  done,  the  hope  of  finally  achieving  some- 
thing. There  was  as  much  difference  as  between  a 
piece  of  marble  on  which  the  sculptor's  hand  has  been 
chiselling  for  endless  years,  and  the  new  mass  on  which 
he  has  hardly  yet  begun. 

I  turned  to  Eddie  and  his  attitude  gave  me  a 
memory  of  that  other  day  at  Sunnydale  when  I  had 
admired  that  look  of  competency,  of  being  ready  to 
fight  against  all  the  adverse  forces  in  the  world.  But 
now  in  his  face  was  a  self-repression  which  hurt  me 
and  eagerly  I  gave  him  back  his  freedom. 

"  Eddie,  /  want  to  give  up  my  inheritance  of 
Meadowmere,"  I  said  firmly,  "  I  want  to  give  it  and 
all  that  belongs  to  it  to  Tom  and  his  heirs  for  ever  and 
and  ever  I " 

His  gaze  came  back  from  the  wide  landscape  with  a 
start, 

"  Meadowmere  to  Tom !  But  we're  going  to  live 
there." 

"  No,  we're  not,  we're  going  to  stay  right  here." 

"  I  don't  understand,  I  thought  you — I  thought  it 
was  what  you  wanted  most  in  the  world." 

"  It  was,  but  not  at  such  a  sacrifice  to  you.  I  know 
what  it  would  mean  to  you,  I  have  reckoned  it  all  up, 
and  I  can't  accept  the  sacrifice.  It  wouldn't  be  fair, 
it  would  be  going  back  on  the  spirit  of  what  I  prom- 
ised when  I  said  I  would  give  up  everything  for  you." 

His  face  grew  more  buoyant  as  relief  spread  over  it. 

[305] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


"  But  you ?    Would  you  be  happy  here?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  because  my  heart  has  been  set  on  the 
realisation  of  my  old  dream  that  my  life  here  has  been 
full  of  friction.  It's  because  I  have  never  given  up 
the  thought  of  going  back  to  Meadowmere  and  all  that 
it  would  mean.  Now  I  am  going  to  begin  the  new 
life  in  real  earnest,  but  I  must  put  it  out  of  my  power 
to  long  for  the  old — if  Meadowmere  still  belonged  to 
me  I  might  not  be  able  not  to  hope  that  we  should 
go  to  it." 

"Couldn't you  let  it?" 

"No!"  I  burst  out  passionately.  "Meadowmere 
shall  never  be  let  to  strangers."  And  then  with  the 
knowledge  that  Eddie  did  not,  could  not  understand 
this  passionate  love  for  a  place,  for  an  inheritance, 
for  the  connecting  link  in  the  long  line  to  which  I 
belonged,  I  made  my  voice  more  gentle.  "  A  Miller 
must  live  there,  the  owner  of  Meadowmere.  There 
are  duties  to  the  people,  to  the  land,  to  the  future.  It 
is  right  that  Tom  should  have  it,  he  was  brought  up 
to  look  upon  it  as  his  inheritance,  and  it  was  not  alto- 
gether his  fault  that  he  was  turned  out.  He  will  ap- 
preciate it  now,  and  the  people  love  him.  I  think 
Father  would  have  wished  it,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to 
think  he  is  there.  Perhaps  in  time,  some  day,  his  chil- 
dren will  be  running  on  the  lawns." 

A  lump  came  to  my  throat  as  I  said  good-bye  to 
that  old  dream.     "  But  there  is  one  other  thing,  is  it 
unfair  to  our  son?    It  is  a  great  inheritance,  will  he 
reproach  me — some  day  ?  " 
[306] 


Sunrise 

"  No !  "  said  my  husband  proudly,  "  his  inheri- 
tance shall  be  here,  it  will  be  all  right,  I  will  see  to 
that." 

I  smiled,  perhaps  a  little  sadly.  "  Yes,  he  will  in- 
herit his  father's  work,  his  father's  achievements.  But 
I  shall  have  a  big  part,  to  bring  him  up  to  be  a  worthy 
link  in  the  generations  to  follow,  so  that  in  him  will 
be  combined  the  virtues  of  the  old  and  the  new — ven- 
eration, love  of  home,  sympathy  with  sorrow  which  life 
in  Sunnydale  taught  me,  and  vitality,  and  pride  in 
honest  achievement,  typical  of  the  new.  He  will  be  a 
fine  man,  our  son,  Eddie !  " 

"  Thanks  to  you !  "  he  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

I  looked  towards  the  risen  sun ;  there  was  no  sound 
but  a  faint  rustling  in  the  trees  behind  us,  and  far 
away  a  bell  which  called  the  people  to  early  worship. 
The  light  was  around  us,  another  day  had  dawned. 

Good-bye,  Meadowmere — England!  I  said  in  my 
heart,  and  the  scene  was  shut  out  by  the  tears  which 
filled  my  eyes. 

"  Margaret !  "  Eddie's  voice  was  a  whisper,  uncer- 
tain, "  I — can't  tell  you — but  you  know — how  I  thank 
you." 

I  turned  my  back  upon  the  world  behind  me. 
"  Eddie,  when  you  asked  me  if  I  would  not  give  up 
everything  for  you  and  I  answered  *  yes/  I  did  not 
know  then.  Now  I  say  'yes'  again,  understanding 
what  I  say." 

His  arms  were  round  me,  and  with  the  glowing  sun 
upon  his  face,  his  eyes  looked  down  upon  me  with  a 

[307] 


Sunrise  from  the  Hill-Top 


light  which  thrilled  me.    "  I  love  you ! "  he  whispered 
and  kissed  me. 

And  we  went  down  the  hillside,  back  to  the  life 
which  was  before  us,  back  to  our  sleeping  child. 


THE  END 


C308] 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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